


two if by chance

by nightbloomings



Series: two if by chance [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, New Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/pseuds/nightbloomings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>note: this is a repost. after 10 chapters, 200+ kudos, 80+ comments, and 2600+ hits i accidentally deleted the original :'(</p><p>----------</p><p>It seems the opportunity of a lifetime for Cullen: headlining as executive chef at New York’s newest, most-anticipated restaurant, with a menu he can craft & construct all to his specifications. It’s a risk, leaving the comfortable sous chef position he’s held in London, and his sister Mia is sure to remind him of the fact. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, so Cullen gathers his things and his dog, Dijon, and heads for New York. </p><p>Dorian is an upcoming fashion designer attempting to strike out with his own line after the retirement of his mentor, Gereon Alexius. But he’s not without help, after dragging Gereon’s son Felix along after him. Their first show is around the corner & they’ve garnered the attention of people that could make or break their business but they’ve also been beset by nothing but problems with suppliers, venues, and models. Dorian’s determined to make everything work, but all of the fates and their second cousins seem just as determined to get in his way.</p><p>That is until, by chance, Dorian meets a charming dog by the name of Dijon …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first things first! huuuge thank you to my bro tara ([commanderruthernerd](http://commanderruthernerd.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for screaming along with me about this AU and for helping me to plan and for finding the perfect fancast for cullen and for giving me music to have feels to.
> 
> post-fic edit: speaking of music to have feels to! tara's made an amazing fanmix to go with the fic, which you can listen to and swoon over [here!](http://8tracks.com/illburnthatbridge/t-i-b-c)
> 
> this was an idea i had back in january and was originally going to submit it for the dragon age big bang but i wasn't in a place to deal with deadlines, so. i've got a two chapter headway going, which means updates should be pretty regular too. 
> 
> i normally don't do this with modern AUs but i've decided to go with real world cities here, versus thedosian ones. my reasoning is that universal ideas and impressions of places like new york and london are bigger, more immediate, and lend a lot more to the narrative than using, say, val royeaux and denerim.
> 
> (i made the collage below to help with visualising some of the aspects of the story. most of you who are also on tumblr will recognise the fancasts~ but if not, the original posts are [here](http://starkhavened.tumblr.com/post/118748466969/m%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%85%E1%B4%87%CA%80%C9%B4-au-f%E1%B4%80%C9%B4%E1%B4%84%E1%B4%80s%E1%B4%9B-c%E1%B4%9C%CA%9F%CA%9F%E1%B4%87%C9%B4-r%E1%B4%9C%E1%B4%9B%CA%9C%E1%B4%87%CA%80%D2%93%E1%B4%8F%CA%80%E1%B4%85-d%E1%B4%8F%CA%80%C9%AA%E1%B4%80%C9%B4) and [here](http://starkhavened.tumblr.com/post/118748466969/m%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%85%E1%B4%87%CA%80%C9%B4-au-f%E1%B4%80%C9%B4%E1%B4%84%E1%B4%80s%E1%B4%9B-c%E1%B4%9C%CA%9F%CA%9F%E1%B4%87%C9%B4-r%E1%B4%9C%E1%B4%9B%CA%9C%E1%B4%87%CA%80%D2%93%E1%B4%8F%CA%80%E1%B4%85-d%E1%B4%8F%CA%80%C9%AA%E1%B4%80%C9%B4).)

"There, that feels good doesn't it, D?" Cullen says, looking at Dijon, as the door to their apartment building closes behind him with the same creak it's always made. Dijon looks back, with a puzzled expression. Perhaps it veers closer to judgmental, rather. Then he huffs and starts down the sidewalk, tugging Cullen along after him. "Right, right… on with it, then."

And it does feel good, to be out in the spring weather. The sun is a little weak but it's out, still, and the clouds and the wind are holding themselves at bay. But even with the chill, it's better than the stuffy confines of the apartment. Until a month ago, walking the dog had been a part of Cullen's routine, an activity that took fifteen, twenty minutes of time that he very often didn't have. Now it's a reason to leave the apartment. And if they happen to go on two or three in a day, sometimes, Dijon never seems to mind.

They walk aimlessly, no direction in mind beyond _away from the apartment_. It's busy, but then when is Manhattan ever quiet? It shouldn't feel like such a major adjustment from life in London's West End because it was constantly busy there too. But it is an adjustment. The hustle bustles differently here, more aggressive and more loud and more… _everything_. It had been invigorating when Cullen had been working, because he only encountered it when he was already on the go, to the restaurant or to various suppliers or to farmer's markets for things the suppliers didn't have. In the absence of all of that, though, the 'never sleeps' aspect of the city is overwhelming.

_"It's a gamble, Cullen,"_ Mia had said, before he had left and with enough time for him to still stay. But staying wasn't an option, not considering the opportunity put before him.

Mia was right, of course. As she'd always been. About everything.

He sighs, still lost somewhere in his thoughts, and Dijon turns to look back at him with a huff that catches his attention. He looks down at his dog, sitting patiently and watching him, and he realises—they're paused at an intersection, people walking quickly past them on all sides. He clears his throat, embarrassed despite being seemingly unnoticed, and starts through the intersection at the tail end of the walk signal.

Perhaps instead of being a 'walk the dog' sort of morning, this is a 'take the dog for some caffeine' sort of morning.

It doesn't take long to come across a coffee shop, but it does take a few blocks to find one that has an available table outside. It's one Cullen's never been to before, but it's busy and it isn't a chain, so that has to be a good sign. He stops in front of the open table, smiling quickly at the pair of men seated at the next one over, and ties Dijon's leash to one of the legs.

And he feels two pairs of eyes watching him as he heads into the coffee shop.

 

When he emerges again, latte and muffin in hand, Dijon's settled onto the ground and is being scratched behind the ear by one of the men next to their table, the one whose arms are littered with colourful tattoos. Cullen sits down and smiles at him again.

"Well, he seems to like you."

The man looks up from Dijon and smiles back. "He's a charmer." His accent is English too, something posh and elegant.

"It's all an act, I assure you," Cullen says with a scoff, reaching over to tap Dijon's backside with the toe of his boot. The dog turns his head and levels him with an unamused look, before turning back to the hand doling out attention. Cullen chuckles and tucks into his coffee, unable to help the small _mmm_ that he lets out after the first sip—it's good coffee, perfectly brewed and aromatic. He looks up and makes mental note of the address.

His eyes fall onto the two men's table next, and he notices the tablets and the folders and the notepad covering the top of it. They've clearly been working on something before he and Dijon—but mostly Dijon—had come along and interrupted them, and now Dijon is up on all fours, demanding even more of the tattooed one's attention.

"Hey," Cullen says quietly, leaning forward to get more on the dog's level. "Dijon, come on—let them get back to work, okay?" Dijon looks at him and huffs, before looking back to his new friend.

The tattooed man chuckles a little. Cullen notices then that the tattoos aren't imprinted just on his arms, but up a ways onto his neck too. His hands are adorned with several rings and bracelets too, which glint in the sun as he draws them away from Dijon.

"His name is Dijon? After the city? Or the condiment…?"

_They're really one and the same_ , Cullen is tempted to say but he holds that back, because not everybody is as interested in such things as he is. "The condiment, technically."

And this time the man laughs, quick and clearly amused. "What a riot. I've never met a dog named for a condiment, I have to say." Dijon barks and takes a step back, sitting on his haunches. "Oh, have I offended you, sir? Not my intention, I promise—a charming name for a charming dog, either way."

"I'm a chef."

"Oh, well that explains it then." The man leans back in his chair and reaches for his mug, before turning slightly more towards Cullen. "Where do you cook?"

Cullen dips his head and scratches at his forehead. That was always the immediate question that followed telling someone that he was a chef, and when he was actually cooking somewhere, it wasn't an issue but now— "well, I'm… Nowhere, at the moment."

"Oh. That doesn't work very well for a chef, does it…?"

"Not exactly, no. have you heard of Wunderbar?"

"Didn't that close recently?"

Cullen shrugs one shoulder and nods before taking a drink of his latte.

The man nods, looking out onto the street. "I've a few friends in the industry and I've heard that was a rather… messy situation, that one."

"And whatever you've heard, I can assure you it's worse than that." Cullen sounds bitter and he knows it, but… he is bitter. But that isn't this man's problem, it's his, and he remembers again that he'd meant to let the two men get back to their work. He doesn't feel much like talking about Wunderbar any further as it is, so he waves his hand and clears it all away. "Anyway, like I said, I'll let you both get back to work."

The man shrugs. "We're actually completely at a stand-still, you see. Stumped." He looks over at his tablemate, who's typing away rather quickly on his phone. "Aren't we, Felix?"

Felix hums and slowly looks up from his phone as he finishes typing. "What's that, Dorian?"

"I was just saying that we're fucked, basically."

"Oh, yes. We are. Ruthlessly so."

Dorian laughs softly. "So there you have it. There's really not much to interrupt, at this point."

Cullen opens his mouth to reply but he finds he doesn't know what to say. He's not one to speak with strangers often, not like this, and he's not sure whether this was a topic to continue talking about or one to politely sympathise over and drop. So he closes his mouth, clears his throat, and says, "I'm sorry to hear, hopefully you find a solution soon."

Dorian nods and sips from his mug. Tiny flecks of pale green matcha are left behind on his moustache when he lowers it a moment later, and he flicks his tongue out to catch them.

And then that's it; he doesn’t say anything further, and Cullen doesn't either, though more for lack of knowing what to say rather than lack of wanting to continue talking. Because he finds he _does_ want to continue talking. There's something intriguing about Dorian, something Cullen can't quite work out. He very much isn't Cullen's usual type, with the tattoos and the jewellery. But he's strikingly attractive and he seems very much like a… force unto himself, a catalyst of some kind, and Cullen can't deny the impulse to want to know him more.

But how one gets from _here_ to _there_ , he's never been entirely sure, so instead he reaches for his muffin and tears it in half, leaving the top on the plate and whistling for Dijon. The dog jumps up from Dorian's feet and moves toward Cullen, pushing his head into his lap and snuffling eagerly at the muffin in Cullen's hand. Cullen breaks off a chunk and feeds it to him, wiping the leftover wetness from the dog's tongue on his jeans.

Cullen glances at Dorian when he turns back to the table for his latte, and sees that Dorian had been watching him with Dijon. Dorian flashes a quick smile and then turns to Felix, leaning in to whisper something to him.

He turns back to Cullen a moment later and smiles again, but wider and this time it lingers. "Perhaps you might be able to help us, actually…"

Cullen freezes, a large bite of muffin top in his mouth. "Excuse me?" he says, muffled, surprised at the suggestion. He swallows quickly and clears his throat.

"We're running a fashion line, Felix and I—something new for both of us, under our own names. Our first show is around the corner and we've had nothing but problems. Suppliers having nothing of what we needed, which has led to some interesting wild goose chases around several fabric stores out in the burroughs… And we had a venue, which we lost, but we've gotten another one secured—"

"Maker willing," Felix interjects, with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, exactly. Anyway, our current problem now is that we're short three models. Of all things to be short of for a fashion show! But perhaps that's where you come in…"

"…Me?"

Dorian nods. "Indeed," he says, his smile fading save for one corner of his mouth that holds it up.

"I…" Cullen swallows again, and for Maker knows what reason, he glances at Dijon—who, rightfully, is looking back at him with a puzzled expression. "As in to cater it?" Cullen ventures, because surely Dorian can't be asking what Cullen _thinks_ he might be asking, so better to deflect and hope his first thought is wrong.

Apparently it isn't.

Because Dorian laughs, a short, sharp bark of a laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Oh, no, no, though I'm sure your food is fabulous, to have been contracted at a place like Wunderbar, after all. But no, I mean to model for us."

And Cullen blushes, across the tops of his cheeks and down the back of his neck, and at the tops of his ears, too. "Maker, are you serious? I'd be no good at that, truly—I was barely able to walk myself across the street on the way over here, let alone down a runway."

Dijon barks then, panting as he looks between Cullen and Dorian, as if in agreement.

"Is that so? You seem perfectly agile from what I've seen of you here," Dorian says. "I confess I watched you as you approached, and on your way in and out of café."

Which Cullen had suspected, at least in part, and yet still he blushes a bit anyway. "I really don't advise you to pin your hopes on me. I'm sure I'd muck it all up somehow."

"Nonsense, it won't be as serious as all that. You'd be one amongst a group of nine or ten, and it's a straight shot down the runway."

"And we'll pay you," Felix adds.

Dorian nods and smiles. "Naturally."

It isn't as though Cullen's in a position to be refusing money, at this point. He has savings, of course, but Maker knows how long his severance will be tied up in Wunderbar's bankruptcy proceedings.

There's a blur of movement out the corner of Cullen's eye and he looks over to see Felix gathering up the things scattered on the table. "Dorian, we have that lunch with the Immaculate Agency rep, in Midtown."

"Right, right… thank the Maker for you, Felix." Dorian tips his mug back all the way to empty it and rises from his chair. Standing in front of Cullen now, he pulls his wallet from his jacket pocket and takes out a card, handing it over. "Our studio address is on here, as is my contact info. We're having a fitting tomorrow afternoon, all afternoon, so please do come by if you're interested. I promise you'd be a great fit for the look we're going for. We'll start you out small, one or two outfits to see how you fare, and I used to walk myself—I'll teach you everything I know." He winks then, the corner of his mouth hitching up slightly. "What's your name, by the way?"

Cullen swallows, his eyes glancing down quickly at the red card with _ALTUS_ written in white lettering, now pinched between his fingers, before looking back at Dorian. "It's Cullen, but I, um… well…"

"I'll see you if I see you, Cullen," Dorian says, as he starts taking a few steps backward. "But I do hope I see you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone curious, i've been picturing dorian & felix's fashion line as being like a crisper, more refined version of band of outsiders (references [here](http://www.thewrittenrunway.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/Runway-Band-of-Outsiders-Sp12.jpg) and [here](http://swipe.swipelife.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/band-of-outsiders-ny-fashion-week-main.jpg?aec60b)).

It turns out that Dorian and Felix's studio is only a couple of blocks away from the coffee shop Cullen had met them at the day before. Cullen might have known this beforehand, if he were at all familiar with Greenwich—but he isn't. So he's spent the last twenty minutes walking up and down blocks, Dorian's business card in hand, trying to find the right building. He finds it eventually, after only minimal trial and error, and the fact that he didn't turn tail and head back home well before this is a small victory.

He's nervous; very nervous. But whether his pride likes it or not, he's not in a position to turn down a paying job, ultimately. And beyond that, there's the matter of Dorian. Handsome, outgoing, charming Dorian, whom Cullen would very much like to get to know, in a number of different capacities, but he would have to be the biggest tit to decline to help yet still go on to ask the guy out.

…which of course presumes that Cullen's ever had the stones to just… ask someone out without laying some groundwork—and maybe several storeys on top of _that_ , if he's being honest. And he's never been a very good liar, anyway.

Dorian had said that the fitting would run all afternoon, so Cullen had purposely waited until it was decently late enough that the majority of the models, or anyone else who might be there, would likely have come and gone already. And while Cullen wasn't exactly expecting an empty room save for Felix and Dorian, he's certainly not expecting the complete chaos that meets him when he rounds the corner from the hallway into the studio.

There are people _everywhere_. All in various states of _naked_.

At least that's Cullen's first impression because all he can see is a sea of just… skin. But after blinking three times and nearly running away once, he sees it's actually all men without their clothes. There are a few women, all still dressed and all running around looking very busy, with piles of fabric in their arms. Cullen spies Felix next, tape measure hung around his neck, dealing with a few models in one corner of the room—meaning he's got his hand down the back of one man's pants while he's talking to the other, gesturing with his free hand.

Dorian cuts through Cullen's field of view then and he has sudden vision of the two of them being in Felix and that one model's place; and Cullen blushes, hard. Dorian's carrying an iPad in one hand and a folio under one arm, and he must catch Cullen out the corner of his eye because he's already a few paces past when he realises Cullen's standing there.

"Oh!" He stops short and turns back to Cullen with a wide smile. "You've made it."

Cullen nods, shoving both hands in the pockets of his jeans. "That I have."

"I have to admit, I was rather sure I wasn't going to see you here today."

"Well, Dijon insisted," Cullen says with a lopsided smile, and Dorian returns it tenfold.

"Remind me to send him a gift basket, then. You found the place okay, I hope? Can I get you anything? Tea, smart water, pressed juice?"

"No, no I’m fine, thanks." Cullen decidedly ignores the question about being able to find the studio; Dorian doesn't need to know the roundabout route that Cullen took. He breaks eye contact then and looks out across the studio, which is a mistake because it seems to have gotten even _busier_ in the last five minutes, and there's more commotion, more bodies, more skin…

And Dorian seems to pick up on whatever Cullen's emanating, because he takes Cullen's arm and pulls him off to the side a little. "Hey, look at me," he says, his voice pitched low. "Don't worry about the rest of all that. Besides, it can't be too different from a busy kitchen brigade, yes?"

Dorian's hand is still on Cullen's bicep, and it feels heavy and warm against his skin. "Everyone keeps their kit on in _my_ kitchen," he deadpans with a small scoff.

Dorian smiles and he takes his hand away, lightly dragging it down the rest of Cullen's arm in the process. "Fair, but we have slightly relaxed health and safety regulations, here. Just think of it as _my_ kitchen, hmm?"

Cullen chuckles, and maybe it's the analogy to his own area of expertise, maybe it's the touch—or a combination of both, even, but whatever it is that does it, it works because he feels looser and a little more at ease. "Yes, chef," he says, giving Dorian a quick wink.

"Mmm." Dorian smiles and uses his free hand to twist one corner of his moustache. He's wearing a shirt with no sleeves this time, and Cullen can see more of the tattoos on his arms. They're practically full sleeves, almost no skin showing between each of them, and they're remarkably colourful. He hadn't known tattoos _could_ be that colourful, truthfully, though it's not as though he has much experience with them in the first place. "I do like the sound of that," Dorian continues. "But we should get you started, there are at least two outfits I'd like for you to try, if you're alright with that."

Cullen nods, and really at this point Dorian could ask him to try a hundred outfits and he's rather sure he'd agree. There's still the matter of the communal mass of nudity, however…

Dorian turns to a rack positioned behind them and pulls two hangers overloaded with clothing from it, each tagged with a label that says 'Cullen?'

"I'll loan you my office to change," he says, gesturing to the door next to the rack, and Cullen lets out a small breath of relief. Dorian reaches over to open the door and passes the hangers to Cullen. "I'll be here when you're ready to come out."

Cullen says a quick thanks and moves into the office, and Dorian closes the door behind him. He looks around but doesn't see anywhere to hang the outfits Dorian's given him, so he drapes them carefully across a sofa against the right wall.

The entire room is white, in contrast to the worn red brick of the rest of the studio, and the entire far wall is taken up by spotless plate glass windows which feed so much light into the room that it all seems to gleam. It's very sparsely decorated, otherwise—there's the couch, a desk in the middle of the room, buried under a total disarray of papers and folios and magazines, and a whiteboard on the wall next to the door with virtually every spare inch of space taken up by sketchy drawings and neat handwriting. The left wall has a few pictures hung up in black gallery frames, but none are of family or friends—just cities and monuments and objects.

Cullen turns his attention to the outfits he's meant to be trying on. The one on the bottom of the pile is a suit, and the one on the top is… he's not entirely sure. He reaches for the hanger and holds it up at arm's length to examine it, and there's a lot of pieces. Dark brown slacks, a button-down shirt that's mostly green with little white bits threaded through the fabric—there's probably a name for it, but Cullen certainly doesn't know what it is—a grey henley, a navy blue zippered cardigan with a shawl collar, and a white and grey seersucker blazer with patches of dark brown suede sewn over the elbows.

And the only reason he knows what seersucker is, is because of the jackets that Mia had chosen for him and Branson to wear in her wedding two years ago.

Cullen undresses, leaving his jeans and t-shirt in a folded pile on the couch. Both are looking more than a little well-worn next to the crisp, new outfits on the hangers, but one doesn't exactly focus on shopping for clothes when one spends about ninety hours a week in a chef's jacket.

Regardless, Cullen reaches for the slacks and pulls them on. The henley comes next, and then the button-down. Easy enough, but he's not sure whether the shirt should be worn open or closed, so he elects to leave it open, if only because the pants and the henley already feel two sizes too tight. The cardigan and the blazer are left, and Cullen looks between them as if together they form some sort of riddle, where one is the right answer and the other isn't and Dorian's left him to decide which is which. He's also doubtful he'd be able to stuff himself into _both_ at the same time, because surely four layers is at least two too many, so he reaches for the jacket and pulls it on. He double checks that his fly is closed and takes the cardigan from the hanger, heading out of Dorian's office.

Dorian's standing a few feet away, talking with Felix and pointing at something on the screen of his iPad. Felix glances up at Cullen and nods his head towards him, and Dorian looks over his shoulder. His gaze travels up Cullen's full height, and he smiles broadly when their eyes meet. He says a few more words to Felix before tugging the tape measure away from Felix's neck and strolling over to Cullen.

"I, um." Cullen holds up the cardigan. "I wasn't sure about this…"

Dorian chuckles and waves the hand holding the tape measure. "Nonsense, you've done very well. Here…" He throws the tape measure around his neck and tucks the iPad under his arm, and slips behind Cullen. He helps Cullen take the jacket off, straightening the shoulders of the button-down at the same time. "It goes on under the blazer."

Cullen says a quiet "oh" and slips the cardigan on. Dorian's hands are at his neck again, popping the collar of the sweater, his fingertips brushing so lightly against his skin that he shivers and he's sure there's no way Dorian's missed _that_. But he doesn't acknowledge it either way, least not in a way that Cullen can tell, and he holds out the blazer so that Cullen can put it on again.

Dorian moves back in front of him, and now he takes the iPad and slips it into the waistband at the back of his pants. He seems all business as he sets about righting Cullen's clothing, buttoning the green shirt up halfway.

"This chambray is one of the fabrics that we'd had trouble sourcing, but…" Dorian pauses and his hands move to smooth the fabric down over Cullen's chest and sides, and it's all Cullen can manage not to go too rigid at his touch. "Seeing it on you now makes the trip out to whichever fabric hellhole we went to in the burroughs well worth it."

Cullen clears his throat and gives a little nod. Chambray. Funny word, that. And far safer to focus on than the warm pressure of Dorian's hands still at his sides. "It's a nice colour," he finally manages to say.

Dorian doesn't answer. Instead, he moves behind Cullen again and lifts up all the layers of clothing on his upper half, and then Cullen can feel the backs of his fingers against the small of his back as they delve slightly past the waistband of the pants… and his muscles twitch and jump at the contact. Dorian chuckles a little at that.

"I'll be quick. Just need to see how much to take these in by."

Cullen balks. "Take them _in_? Surely they're tight enough as is?"

Dorian hums and tugs on the waistband, pinching the fabric together slightly. "Nearly, but not quite perfect. Another half-inch ought to be just right."

"Then it's lucky for me that I really like salads."

Dorian shushes him as he moves back in front, draping the tape measure around his neck again. He tilts his head up slightly and fixes Cullen with a look, something pointed and impossible to look away from. "I dare say whatever you've been doing to this point is working _very_ well for you, Cullen."

Cullen doesn't miss the inflection and it stalls him because he's not sure how to follow it up. He doesn't flirt often and certainly not like this. Dorian seems to pick up on the fact that he's thrown Cullen off, because he turns his attention to his iPad, swiping across the screen a few times.

"Go ahead and try the suit on now," he says, glancing up at Cullen. "I'll be here."

As he turns and heads back into Dorian's office to change, Cullen can't decide whether he's thankful for the break Dorian gave him or disappointed that he couldn't manage to volley something back.

He undresses, the touch memory of Dorian's hands on his chest and his sides ghosting across his skin as he takes the chambray shirt off. He puts everything from the first outfit back on the hanger and looks down at the suit on the second. It's three pieces, with the pants and jacket in a dark brown colour similar to the slacks from the first outfit, and the vest in a dark charcoal grey. There's a crisp white dress shirt with full cuffs too.

It's the tightest suit Cullen's ever worn, so tight that he has to suck in a breath in order to manage closing the vest. He's able to exhale still, but the whole get-up does things to his posture that his mother would only have ever been able to dream of.

When he steps out of the office this time, Dorian's standing where he was before but the iPad's disappeared somehow. Instead, he's watching the door in an open stance, his hands at his hips, and it's so… _forward_ that it makes Cullen falter a step or two.

But something about Cullen's appearance seems to do the same to Dorian, because his mouth falls open a little and he doesn't say anything for several moments—which Cullen's already learned in this short time is not a common occurrence for him.

"Well…" Dorian finally says, once Cullen's stopped in front of him. "I must commend myself on my own talent, I have to say." He makes a show of patting himself on the back and winks at Cullen, and Cullen can't help but laugh. "What's your shoe size?"

Cullen freezes mid-laugh for a moment, wondering if this is more innuendo or a genuine question. He answers after a pause, and whether it was innuendo or it wasn't, Dorian's mouth hitches up at the corner all the same before he walks over to a clutch of more clothing racks a few feet away. He comes back with a pair of cognac-coloured dress shoes and hands them over to Cullen.

With the shoes on, Dorian comes close and kneels down in front of Cullen. A blush blooms across his cheeks immediately, at the _position_ and the _proximity_ , and Cullen's glad Dorian can't exactly see his face because he knows there's no way he can hide this. Dorian, for his part, is fiddling with the hems of the pant legs, folding them up and pinning the makeshift cuffs into place. He tugs down on the pants a few times, then smoothes his hands down the outside of Cullen's legs.

"Well," he says, looking up at Cullen. "This couldn't have worked out better, I have to say. Just a few minor adjustments and you'll be all set for Saturday."

Cullen glances down quickly at Dorian before looking back out at the rest of the studio, trying to swallow his nerves. "That's the show, on Saturday?"

Dorian nods and stands, finally. He crosses his arms, the fabric of his shirt going tight around muscles that Cullen hadn't noticed were there until now. "We'll have a dress rehearsal on Friday, if you're available for that."

"Oh, I should be…" Cullen says, as though there's a chance he might not be.

"Perfect," Dorian says, smiling a little. "Go ahead and change back to your civvies, I'll give you all the details once you're done." He makes a little circle motion with his index finger, ending off with a point towards his office door.

 

Changed and comfortable again in his worn-in jeans and t-shirt, Cullen emerges from Dorian's office to a decided lack of Dorian. He looks around the studio, seeing nothing, but then Dorian's voice echoes out across the room. It's coming from somewhere in the direction of where Felix had been standing when Cullen first arrived, so he heads over.

And sure enough, Felix is there, though the model he'd been up close and personal with is gone. He's holding up two hooded shirts in front of him, one red and one orange. He's tiling one hanger to the side and then tilting the other, and both are talking animatedly. Well, Dorian's animated at least—Felix seems to be his even-keeled counterpoint.

Felix notices Cullen first, looking over as he approaches. "Oh, Cullen—Dorian was just telling me that you apparently seem to be the man we've been making all our measurements to unknowingly this whole time."

"Oh, well…" Cullen says, rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing at Dorian as he looks up too. "I do what I can…"

Dorian laughs loudly and pats Felix's chest through the red shirt. "We certainly appreciate the effort, you've made our jobs rather easier," he says, taking a couple steps closer to Cullen. "Now, for the dress rehearsal. It'll be held at the venue, starting at three o'clock. That works for you, yes?" He waits for Cullen to nod and then reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He turns it on, flicks across the screen a few times, then passes it over to Cullen. "If you'll just pop your number in here, I'll text you the address."

Dorian's phone is set to the new contact screen, and Cullen quickly types in his number. "Is it difficult to find?"

"No, it isn't," Felix interjects from behind Dorian. "He just wants your number."

Cullen blushes at that, and Dorian just laughs again, taking the phone back from Cullen.

"Felix knows me too well," he simply says as he pockets the phone. "But it was very good pretence, if I do say so myself." Cullen stalls, wondering what to say in response to that, but Dorian carries on instead. "Anyway, dear Cullen, we've taken enough of your time today. I wouldn't want to get on Dijon's bad side, for keeping you away so long."

Cullen scoffs. "The brat will be just fine, I'm sure. Pass him a bit of food and he'll be your best friend again."

Dorian smiles slowly at the corner of his mouth. "I hope I get the chance to make amends with him. See you Friday then, in the meantime."

"Friday," Cullen says with a nod before turning towards the door.


	3. Chapter 3

The rehearsal had gone well, as far as Dorian is concerned. Felix of course has his own views on the matter, and as such, a laundry list of things that need to be tweaked and corrected. So Dorian leaves him to see to those things, because there's no sense in trying to convince him everything will be fine otherwise. Dorian is more off the cuff, while Felix is decidedly less so. It's a good balance between them, and Dorian knows neither of them would get anything done if not for the other to either push things along when Felix gets bogged down in details, or to slow things down when Dorian gets too haphazard.

One thing they agreed on was that Cullen had done wonderfully, considering his total lack of experience. He'd walked well enough to begin with and he'd seemed to pick up more and more from the other models with each turn—of course he was adorably awkward in his own way, clearly too far into his own head, but he had a natural sort of grace too that spoke to an innate self-confidence just under the surface, and all together Dorian's found himself entirely intrigued.

"The Maker truly dropped a gift in front of us that day at that coffee shop," Dorian had mused to Felix from the corner of his mouth while they watched Cullen make his third pass down the runway. Felix had only rolled his eyes and muttered something about waiting until the show was actually over before pursuing him, please and thank you. Dorian had laughed, patting his partner on the shoulder while adding, "Of course, dear Felix—what am I if not completely professional?"

It'd earned him a scoff in response.

The fact that Dorian had been tempted on more than one occasion to text Cullen during the week, days after sending him the rehearsal and show details, was neither here nor there, either.

But now they're about five minutes away from curtain, so to speak, so Dorian's shifted into his singular focus of making sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. Felix is in the control booth to the side of the runway, doing the rounds of technicalities, the lighting and the music, talking faster than a mile a minute into his headset. And Dorian's seeing to the models, making sure they're in their correct order and that each outfit is as it should be. Of course there are last minute changes, adding pieces and removing some, but it all feels innate to Dorian regardless. He's never been entirely sure whether this is all meant to feel so easy to him—Gereon had always said his propensity for calm would come back to bite him in the arse sooner or later, but Dorian had been inclined to think that that was the branch from which Felix had fallen doing the talking.

Cullen is in sixth position, dressed in the casual outfit with the chambray and the seersucker. Dorian made sure not to place him too close to the front or the end of the line, figuring that the placement might ease whatever nerves Cullen might have about standing out. He keeps his reasoning to himself, of course, not wanting to even plant the seed of consideration in Cullen's head, but he hopes it serves its purpose all the same.

Dorian approaches him with his warmest smile, which earns him a nervous glance and a quick but feeble smile in return. He gets his hands on Cullen's collar, adjusting what doesn't need to be adjusted. "How are you faring?" he asks, voice low so it's clear that it's intended just for him, as he looks up at Cullen's hair and delicately rearranges a few of his big, soft curls.

"Oh, fine," Cullen says, but his tone is terse, edged with anxiety, so Dorian moves a hand to his upper arm and squeezes, hoping it translates as a grounding and reassuring gesture.

"I'll be just there, at the front of the queue, before and after you walk." Cullen nods, his eyes flicking to the head of the line as if to size up the distance. "If it helps," Dorian continues, voice still hushed and now a little teasing, "pretend that the audience is filled with _dogs_ , as if Dijon's brought all of his four-legged friends, instead of the snooty busybodies that are out there."

Cullen nods again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, but he laughs still when his eyes flick back to Dorian, even if it's belated and a little thin.

"I need to carry on, but you'll do just fine, Cullen. And the fact you're here at all is more than I could have expected from a stranger I met on the street, trust me." He squeezes Cullen's arm again and continues down the line of models to finish his checks.

Felix is calling the countdown for the curtain by the time Dorian's reached the last model. He rushes back up the line to the front, his adrenaline beginning to reach its peak as the first song the men will be walking to fades in. Dorian gives Felix the all clear through the headset and Felix calls back, acknowledging. On his signal, the house lights go up and the first thing Dorian sees is the name of their line, _ALTUS_ , cast in reverse shadow against the thin curtains from the sign that hangs just on the other side of them. After a count of five, Dorian sends the first model out through the curtain and down the runway.

He keeps count by tapping his thumb against his belt, fifteen full seconds between each model—just enough time for the one before to reach the end of the runway. And when it's Cullen's turn, Dorian sends him off with a broad smile and a wink.

He's back thirty-two seconds later by Dorian's count, very nearly right on time. He looks maybe a bit like a deer in the headlights—or the flashbulbs, given the circumstances—so Dorian takes a moment to lean over to him to whisper that he's halfway done, now.

Cullen seems to internalise it, responding with a nod and a hushed "right, yeah," before heading to change into his second outfit. And when he comes around again for his second pass, he looks rather more relaxed.

 

After the show, back stage is even busier than it'd been earlier, with the press and fashion bloggers and industry VIPs that had been added to the guest list. Dorian hadn't been expecting to see many members of any category, truth be told—theirs is a new line, by two relatively untested "new comers," a label that ignored all of the experience he and Felix had garnered during their time under Gereon but that neither of them could escape just yet. However they need the positive exposure in whatever form it comes in, so he's pleased to see that a considerable number have gathered, eager to talk to him and Felix.

The two of them are leant up against a folding table that had been used for staging accessories before the show, and they've just been handed fresh flutes of champagne. One of the bloggers asks them to toast for a photo, and so they do—but only after Felix hesitates and Dorian _encourages_ him with an elbow to the side.

The models have changed back into their civvies, for the most part. A few seem to have had trouble finding their own shirts after changing out of the collection pieces, but no one back stage seems to mind the extra skin either. Some of the models are speaking with the press as well, those few with notable names that Dorian and Felix had managed to secure. As much as they preferred that their clothing stand for itself, neither were too arrogant to think that that sort of adjacent publicity was beneath them, especially not so early on.

When Dorian turns his attention back to the conversation happening at his left, Felix is fielding a question from someone at a magazine; Dorian didn't catch which one but no matter, because Felix will have made at least two mental notes, one to send a thank you note and one with the name of who to thank.

The reporter—or intern, more likely—turns to Dorian then, tilting his iPhone towards him to catch his answer. "And how would you describe the core aesthetic of your line?"

"I suppose more aptly it goes collection by collection, really—who's to say how Felix and I will be feeling a year from now, no? But as it is, it's colours and crisp lines, an overall air of carefully-executed casual, things that can take you from…" Something in the opposite corner of the room catches Dorian's attention and his gaze flicks over, his voice trailing off. Through the flurry of activity he sees Cullen standing off to the side, sipping at a half-finished glass of champagne, and Dorian's actually a little surprised that he hadn't skipped away as soon as he was changed. But the fact that he hasn't, well… that has to be a good sign, surely.

"Sorry, I just remembered there's something I need to take care of," Dorian says as he looks back at the reporter, or more specifically at the iPhone still held close to his mouth. "Felix, if you don't mind?"

He doesn't give Felix the chance to protest, and he's sure he'll hear about _that_ sooner rather than later but still Felix easily picks up where he left off.

Dorian approaches Cullen, sightlessly plucking two fresh flutes of champagne from a passing tray as he weaves through the crowd.

Cullen's looking down into the flute he already holds, tilting it and the liquid inside slightly from side to side. He looks up as Dorian nears and smiles at the corner of his mouth.

"All that rush, rush, rush, and then it's over in a flash," Dorian says, smiling broadly back at Cullen.

Cullen huffs, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh, and takes a sip of champagne. "Still feels pretty rush, rush, rush to me."

His eyes flick to the bustle going on over Dorian's shoulder, and Dorian nods. "It is, you're right. You did fantastically, Cullen, I have to say. I couldn’t have hoped for better."

"Really?" Cullen asks, and his tone is so genuinely honest that Dorian can't help but swoon a little at it.

"Of course, really. I guarantee that after my next show after this, someone's going to be asking where that 'tall curly-haired blond with the squared jaw' is. Felix said he's already had someone ask which agency you're with."

A bit of pink blooms across the top of Cullen's cheeks, and he finishes off the last of his champagne then, as if to deflect for a moment. "I'm afraid I think I'm going to stick to being a one-hit wonder."

Dorian chuckles. "Well it's just as well that Felix lied and said that that info was a 'trade secret.'"

He takes a breath then, because it feels like the perfect opening to see about taking whatever this is between them further, if there's even anything at all beyond the fact that he finds Cullen criminally attractive. It's not often that someone, regardless of how gorgeous, gets him stalled and dare he say it, even a bit flustered. But Dorian is hardly a wilting wallflower—rather, he's been called a hothouse orchid on more than one occasion by his dear friend Mae, and humble as he might be, he knows that that's the truth. So, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"What are you plans for the rest of the night, then, Cullen?"

Cullen's rolling the stem of his empty flute between his fingers as he looks at Dorian, and it's a significant struggle for Dorian to keep from staring at how nimble his hands seem to be. "I figured I'd just find some take-out and head home, probably," Cullen says, shrugging one shoulder slightly. "Unless there was something else you needed me for…?"

"Well, nothing professional, per se… but if you don't mind waiting while you work through another glass of champagne, I'll be free and we can go get dinner together instead?" Dorian holds one of the flutes he'd grabbed before out to Cullen, a brief flash of relief hitting him when Cullen takes it without hesitating. "Felix organised some big after party not far from here, but between you and me, I'm finished talking shop for at least a week and if I see some of these industry types' faces again before next season, it will be entirely too soon." He pauses to laugh and sip a little at his champagne. "So, if you're interested, I'd much rather spend the rest of the evening with you."

Cullen's mid-sip when Dorian finishes, and he seems to stall slightly with the flute against his lips. "I, oh…" he says after a moment, and then clears his throat. "I'd like that, actually, yes."

Dorian smiles broadly. "Perfect. There's a charming little French bistro a few minutes' walk from here, their _frites_ are to die for."

The fact that it's also only a half-block from his apartment is purely coincidence. Really.

"Alright," Cullen says with a quiet laugh. "See you at the bottom of this flute, then."


	4. Chapter 4

Dorian and Cullen walk the few blocks to the restaurant, their bodies close enough for their arms to almost touch.

Dorian holds the door open for Cullen when they reach the restaurant, and he can't help the breath he takes in to capture Cullen's scent. He'd noticed it first at the fitting, of course, as close as he'd needed to come to Cullen's body. And again earlier at the show, leaning in to adjust Cullen's collar, he'd caught it again. He has no idea what brand of cologne it is, but it's enticing either way—woodsy and clean, not at all like the heady, musky scents that Dorian wears himself.

They're seated in the window, and Dorian goes around the side of the table instead of across it because he wants the proximity to Cullen—who for his part seems to pay it no mind. The restaurant is quiet for a Saturday, perhaps because of the late hour, but it's a good sort of quiet: just enough background noise to fill in the gaps within their conversation, should there be any.

"I've always liked the décor in here," Dorian says once they're settled. "The details of it. Such nice little touches…"

Cullen smiles briefly and looks around the room, sweeping his eyes over the black and white tiled floor, the old dark wood tables and chairs, the antique gold light fixtures, even all the way up to the embossed tin ceiling. "It is nice, very charming. Really does remind me of a proper French bistro, actually."

Dorian is just about to ask whether Cullen's spent any time in France, when their waiter comes over to take their drink order. "Wine?" Dorian asks, looking at Cullen over the top of the drink menu, and Cullen nods with enthusiasm. Dorian smiles at him and orders a bottle of pinot noir from the waiter, and then he orders two kir royales to start as well. "More than a bit dated, I know, but when in _Paris_ …" he says to Cullen, winking.

Cullen chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches for his food menu. "Can't argue with that logic at all."

And then something in Cullen seems to switch off—or on, Dorian's not quite sure, given the way he's started studying the menu. He drags his index finger down it slowly, item by item, reading it all as if it's some revered sacred text. Which is bizarre, Dorian won't lie, but it's endearing at the same time, and it only occurs to him belatedly that this is all to do with Cullen being a chef. The sort of determined concentration that Cullen's taken on now is probably not much different to the way Dorian gets in an interesting clothing store.

That notion of unlikely symmetry makes Dorian chuckle quietly to himself as he looks down at his own menu. He's been to this restaurant before and knows what he likes, so he doesn't spend a lot of time perusing the offerings. He turns his attention instead to the window in front of him and the street outside, the late dusk giving way to darkness and the street lamps taking over in the balmy heat. It's busy, as it always is, people running to and from wherever they're spending the next part of the rest of their night.

He sees Cullen set down his menu from the corner of his eye, and he looks over at him with a smile. "All to your taste, I hope."

Cullen hums and nods. "Definitely. Hard to choose, really." His attention diverts from Dorian to the waiter as he returns with their cocktails and wine.

The waiter sets about uncorking and presenting the wine, offering it to Dorian to taste. He does, and gives a hearty hum of appreciation as the light, earthy flavour hits his tongue. He tells the waiter it's perfect, and the waiter carries on decanting and serving it.

"To your show, then," Cullen says as the waiter works, reaching for the flute filled with the dark pink and bubbly cocktail in front of him. He and Dorian toast their glasses, and before he drinks, Cullen adds, "and to the fact that I didn't bung the entire thing up completely."

Dorian laughs through his nose as he sips, smiling at Cullen as he swallows. "Rather the opposite, dear Cullen, as I've said. And as I'll continue to say whenever the opportunity should arise."

They share another smile again over the tops of their flutes, and then the waiter takes their orders. Dorian keeps with his favourite duck confit and Cullen orders the steak au poivre, and of course some of those to-die-for _frites_. 

A moment later, Dorian notices that Cullen's watching something going on behind him, and rather intently too. Dorian shifts in his chair and turns to see what has Cullen so fixated, and when his eyes fall on the cut-out window looking into the kitchen, the realisation hits. It's a perfect view to the activity going on in there, normally hidden in most restaurants but something with which Cullen would be very intimately acquainted.

"You must miss it," Dorian says, still looking at the window. He can see several young men, from the shoulders of their crisp white chefs jackets and up, some with their heads bent in concentration, others gliding from point to point.

It's been a long moment and Cullen hasn't answered. Dorian turns away from the kitchen window and faces his body towards Cullen instead, leaning his left elbow on the table.

The movement must break Cullen's concentration. He looks back at the table in front of him, and then over at Dorian with a small, almost apologetic smile. "I do, yes," he says, his voice leaving him on a sigh. "It's a certain sort of rush that I've yet to find anywhere else, from anything else."

Dorian nods, reaching for his flute. "I can understand that, certainly," he says before finishing off his cocktail.

"Of course, I'm sure it's the same for you, before a show." Cullen follows suit with his cocktail, draining it and setting the flute to the edge of the table. His hand drifts to the glass of pinot in the next motion, his fingers gripping the stem delicately. "In the kitchen, when everyone's on pace and you're all working well together, it's like… fucking magic, if you'll excuse the cliché."

Dorian laughs, quiet and just for Cullen, and he reaches for his wine too. He takes a deep sip, swishing the wine over his tongue a little before swallowing. "Clichés are what they are for a reason."

Cullen nods at that and moves his wine glass to the space on the table in front of him. He swirls the glass and then lifts it, tilting it just so to see the colour of the wine in the dim light of the restaurant.

"You know your wine, I'm willing to guess."

"Comes with the territory," Cullen says. "A sommelier is a chef's best friend." He brings the glass to his lips then, and takes a quick sniff before drinking.

"Well. Don't let poor Dijon ever hear you say that."

Cullen smiles as he swallows his wine, and chuckles. "You joke but I'm often rather sure he _can_ understand the things I say."

Dorian hums as he sips his wine again. "Remind me to mind my tongue should I ever meet him again." Their eyes meet then, Dorian still half-facing Cullen and Cullen with his forearms resting on the table. It's an interesting moment, loaded in a way but comfortable too. Dorian likes it, and he makes an amused noise in the back of his throat. "But yes, I can see how that sort of system would appeal, especially if one liked order."

"Which I'm guilty of, I'll admit. Perhaps a little Type A. And you're right about that, they don't call it a brigade for nothing."

"Mmm, right, so that would make you the… Commander, then?" Dorian's tone is slow and soft and utterly flirtatious, and he couldn't help it even if he cared to—between the champagne and the wine and the company, it's hardly his fault…

"I…" Cullen pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Yes, I suppose it would. Or did."

Delicate territory this is, Dorian can tell, with too much potential to focus on Cullen's unemployment. So he diverts, laughing brightly and smiling at Cullen over the lip of his wine glass. "Nonsense. Once a Commander, always a Commander. And will be a Commander again, to be sure."

Cullen chuckles but it ends as a huff, and he runs a hand through his hair. Dorian marvels as his curls lift and drop softly back into place. He'd only had brief occasion to touch Cullen's hair—too brief, because now he has the urge to card both hands through it, grip his curls and tug slightly…

"Maker willing," Cullen says, apparently unaware of the thoughts playing through Dorian's mind as he shakes his head a little and reaches for his wine.

Or perhaps he isn't, Dorian thinks, when he catches the look Cullen gives him just before he takes a drink: intent, and edged with something that Dorian can't quite place but rather likes all the same.

 

Their food comes shortly after, served on wide white plates that dwarf the generous portions. The waiter tops their wine glasses after he's set down their dishes, and before he can finish, Cullen's begun to tuck into his steak.

They eat their first few bites in silence, though on Dorian's end it's more due to the fact that Cullen seems utterly entranced. He started with just the sauce first, dipping the tip of his knife into it and tasting it on the tip of his tongue; then he moved on to cutting away a small piece of the meat and inspecting the colour of it. Dorian, meanwhile, has eaten this exact meal at this exact restaurant several times, for how close it is to his apartment, and tonight's execution is no different from every other.

When Cullen pauses to reach for his wine, Dorian seizes the opportunity. "How are you finding it all, then? Anything you would change were it you in the kitchen instead?" he asks, hitching an eyebrow as he takes a drink at the same time as Cullen.

Cullen shakes his head, lowering his wine glass. "This is the most authentic French I've had outside of Europe, so not much to improve upon, really."

"Really? Nothing at all? Not even anything to do with the presentation, or the style, or even the garnish?"

Cullen chuckles, taking on a casual sort of ease to his posture and leaning back in his seat. "Well… if it were me, I suppose I'd add crushed toasted hazelnut to your duck, maybe with a light simple syrup glaze."

Dorian laughs, glancing down at his duck and trying to imagine what that might taste like. "What an interesting choice, I'd have figured you might go with a sauce of some sort instead."

"Oh, duck confit's much better without a sauce," Cullen says. "But the nuttiness would work nicely with richness of the meat."

"Hmm, well. The next time I make duck confit for myself at home, I'll make sure to try that," Dorian says, winking at Cullen. The last time Dorian cooked something from scratch was the last time for a reason. "And your own? Anything you'd change?"

Cullen hums thoughtfully. He reaches for his knife and tastes the sauce on his steak again, smacking his tongue a little this time. "Port," he states. "Instead of red wine."

Dorian laughs a little, surprised. "Port was my grandfather's drink. The last time I had any myself was when I was small enough to still sit on his knee."

"You do have to treat it a bit differently for how sweet it is, but it gives you a heavier sauce that suits the meat better, I think. And with the spice of the peppercorns, it really works well."

Cullen must think he's started to go on a bit of a tangent, because he stops talking abruptly and reaches quickly for his wine. Dorian, for his part, is enchanted. He knows good food, to be sure, but he doesn't know the first thing about just how to get food to _become_ good, so it's all very interesting to him. And more than that, being able to sit and listen to someone talk about something that they're clearly very passionate about, and when that someone is this handsome… well, how could he _not_ swoon a little?

Or more than a little. Neither here nor there.

Cullen clears his throat after his wine. "I've a bit of French training… we were reworking classics all the time." And then he gives Dorian a small, crooked smile. And yet again, it makes Dorian wonder if perhaps Cullen's been able to read his emotions straight off his face.

 

And so they carry on, finishing the bottle of wine before their food, so out come two more kir royales at Dorian's request to finish everything off. By the time the table's cleared and the bill's taken care of, Dorian is more than little tipsy. Drunk, even. But a good sort, of course—easy and light and happy.

"I think I fancy a little night cap," Dorian says, turning to Cullen once they're outside the restaurant. "But I'd rather do it in the comfort of my own apartment." It's a bold move even for him. Typically he's the one reacting, not initiating, and there's reason for that. But something about this, about Cullen, feels different and this feels okay but he'd rather not let himself get into the why of it—he'd rather just get on with it.

Cullen's mouth falls open slightly and he lets out a quiet, "oh."

And the ensuing pause tells Dorian that Cullen hadn't quite got his meaning, so he smiles, puts his hand on Cullen's arm and tugs him just slightly down the street. "My apartment is within stumbling distance," he says, lowering his voice into something suggestive.

"Oh," Cullen says again, only now it sounds as though he's put everything together. He follows after Dorian, keeping close enough to his side that their hips touch. "I rather like that idea."

Dorian barely has time to focus on the enticing proximity of Cullen before they reach his apartment building. He stands in front of the door to unlock it, and Cullen's right behind him. They move into the elevator, and again Cullen's right next to him. They walk into Dorian's apartment, and still Cullen is close. And he's warm and he smells irresistible, and all Dorian wants to do is just touch and explore and kiss—

So he does.

He turns to Cullen, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him full-on. Cullen responds in the same breath, a quiet groan catching in the back of his throat. His hands go to Dorian's hips and Dorian can feel the tips of his fingers digging in through the fabric of his jeans, pulling him closer until they're flush together. And if there was any lingering sense of Cullen being timid, it dissipates when Cullen breaks away just far enough to trace the tip of his tongue along the edge of Dorian's bottom lip. It makes Dorian's breath hitch, his mouth falling open just slightly, and Cullen leans in again to deepen the kiss but Dorian brings a hand to Cullen's chest and holds him steady.

"Wait," he says, taking a deep breath. He can see enough of Cullen's face to watch the way his expression falls, and no, no, no— That's not what Dorian had intended at all. He curls his hand into Cullen's t-shirt and shakes his head, taking a step back and pulling Cullen after him. "The front door is hardly the best place to do this." Dorian leads Cullen through to the living room and sits on the couch, motioning for him to follow.

And he does, settling close enough next to Dorian that their thighs are flush. "Much better," Cullen says, turning right away to reach for Dorian.

His hand slips over Dorian's cheek, fingers brushing over the close-shorn hair at the side of his head until they drop to the back of Dorian's neck and pull him in closer. Dorian goes easily and their lips meet, delicate for half a minute until one—or both, it doesn't really matter now—of them tilts their head and deepens it, mouths opening and tongues meeting, eager for more of each other. Dorian reaches across Cullen and braces his hand on the couch near Cullen's side, and Cullen's free hand goes to it right away, resting on the bare skin of his forearm and slowly dragging up over the rolled-up cuff of his sleeve to rest just above his elbow. Between the light grip Cullen still has on his neck and the brush of his fingers over his arm, a shiver runs through Dorian's body and he moans into Cullen's mouth without thinking about it.

Cullen reacts with a deep guttural sort of noise, almost a growl, and his grip on Dorian tightens, everywhere. The thought that perhaps Cullen likes an… _expressive_ partner occurs to Dorian, vague and barely-formed, and he pockets that for future reference. Cullen's tugs at him, pulling him closer still, but there's nowhere else for Dorian to go except across Cullen's lap, so—

That's where he goes. He swings his leg over Cullen's thighs, knees settling into the couch by Cullen's hips, hands rising to cup his face again, careful all the while not to break contact between their mouths. Cullen's hands drop to the outside of Dorian's thighs, thumbs digging in while the rest of his fingers massage into the taught muscle through the fabric of Dorian's jeans. It's possessive in a way that Dorian hadn't expected for how entirely brand new this is, and isn't used to, for a whole host of other reasons, and it sets off his nerves, jolting through him to pool hot and low in his gut. He can feel a sort of frenzy taking root at the edges of his conscious, as if the whole thing is on the verge of unravelling into something more primal at any minute. And who knows where that's coming from, whether it's the rush leftover from the show, the alcohol still in his system, Cullen himself—or some combination of each. Dorian's not one for relinquishing control in any sense but this… this feels right.

Cullen squeezes Dorian's thighs again before sliding his hands up, cupping the swell of Dorian's ass through his jeans and leaving them there. He pulls his head back slightly then, kissing and tugging at Dorian's bottom lip, and then dropping his mouth to Dorian's jaw. Dorian's practically panting, for how breathless Cullen's gotten him, and then Cullen tugs, trying to pull Dorian's lower half closer. Dorian obliges, very gladly, shifting and scooting forward while Cullen's lips play at the corner of his jaw and the hollow of his ear. There's a start of a groan thrumming in Dorian's throat and it slips loudly out when he shifts so far forward that their hips connect, the ridges of their half-hard cocks rubbing together through their clothes. Cullen makes a noise at the same time, urgent and needful, his lips open against the side of Dorian's neck.

And it seems to be enough to bring them both back to some sort of higher awareness. Cullen's mouth stills, his breath still puffing softly over Dorian's skin, his hands still firm at his ass. Dorian hums, pleased, and straightens a little to look at Cullen face to face. He smiles when their eyes meet, and Cullen returns it after letting out a small chuckle. Dorian cards both hands through Cullen's hair at the sides of his head and around to the small, upturned curls at the nape of his neck.

Cullen's gaze drops to Dorian's lips as though he's considering taking them again, but instead he clears his throat. "I, um… Dijon's been alone all day, and…" His voice trails off and his eyes drop even lower.

Dorian nods a little, because it doesn't surprise him that Cullen's seeking an out. He doesn't fault him for it either—this was all rather impromptu, after all. "Poor boy… hope he thought to order in some take-out." He dips his head and presses a kiss to Cullen's forehead.

Cullen huffs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks back up at Dorian. "If he's managed to do that _and_ figured how to work the loo by the time I'm home, I'll be rather annoyed that I've left here."

"Personally, I'll be rather impressed," Dorian says with a laugh. He settles further back on his knees for a moment, putting more space between him and Cullen, and then he braces his hands on Cullen's shoulders and lifts off completely, standing next to the couch. He holds a hand out to Cullen, wiggling his fingers at him. "Though if that is the case, you're more than welcome to turn tail and head straight back here…"

Cullen takes Dorian's outstretched hand even though he lifts his own weight from the couch without any help. He curls their fingers together, his thumb grazing softly over the back of Dorian's hand. "Believe me, I would do exactly that."

Dorian hums and moves towards the front door, Cullen trailing after him by the hand. It's a pleasant weight in his grip and it feels novel, in a way, for how few times Dorian's actually stopped to simply hold someone's hand in his life.

"Hire a sitter next time, yeah?" he teases, squeezing Cullen's hand before letting it go.

Cullen chuckles and nods, stopping in front of the front door. He slips both hands into his front pockets and looks at Dorian, his expression somewhere between unsure and expectant.

Which is entirely the same as what Dorian is _feeling_ , truthfully. The scenario itself is not so foreign to him, but the details are what muddies it, leaving him at a momentary loss for what to do next. But he figures, given everything that's just happened, a goodbye kiss can't possibly go wrong, so he steps forward into Cullen's space and kisses him, bringing his hand to the back of Cullen's neck.

It's a sweet sort of thing, a far cry from the way their mouths had met before. Cullen leans into it, and Dorian can feel him smile against his lips before they separate.

"I'll be in touch," Cullen says simply as Dorian pulls his hand away. Dorian nods and insists that he do so, and soon, and Cullen turns to open the door. He gives Dorian a smile over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold, and pulls the door shut behind him.

Dorian lets out a sigh as he locks it behind Cullen and runs his hands through his hair, still staring at the door. He kicks off his boots where he stands and turns, catching the disarrayed throw pillows on the couch, the indent from where Cullen had sat still faintly visible in the leather, and he goes to take a long, hot shower. 


	5. Chapter 5

Clubs were not Cullen's idea of a good time, usually. If he ever found himself in one, it was typically under the guise of being a friend's birthday or going away party or some such, and certainly never by choice of free will.

Being employed in a new city makes you do all sorts of things you never thought you'd do, Cullen's learned.

Like go to a club on a weeknight just for something to do. Or walk a runway for a devastatingly sexy fashion designer met by chance at a coffee shop.

Leaving Dorian's so abruptly on Saturday hadn't been Cullen's finest moment. It wasn't really about taking care of Dijon at all—he would've been fine to be on his own overnight—and he's rather sure Dorian knew as much at the time. Maybe Dorian had figured it all out then, that Cullen was shying away out of panic.

It's been too long. There was all the work at Wunderbar that left him no time to himself. Before that, the move and the preparation that took. And back in London, there was the whole focusing on his career thing. He didn't want to put a number on exactly how many years it'd been since he'd let himself be exposed enough to be with someone in any meaningful sort of way. Overall it just felt easier to ignore it all along, and what was one more night? Even if it'd been spent with Dorian, the first person Cullen could legitimately picture himself with in a long time. So he'd bailed, automatically avoiding the conversation and all the feelings.

Cowardly, perhaps. But it is what it is.

Rather intense thoughts, really, for what's meant to be a fun night out with the few people he's met since moving to New York. It's not as though it's all doom and gloom—he's texted with Dorian quite a lot since Saturday, so either the interest is genuine or Dorian's genuinely good at faking it. Given that Dorian's last text spoke of getting Cullen 'very alone and very naked,' Cullen's inclined to believe it's the former, however.

He's brought out of his thoughts by an elbow to his side. It makes him jerk to attention, the beer in his half-full bottle sloshing about. He looks to his side and sees Josephine wearing an expectant expression, her lips pulled into a cheeky smile.

"Sorry, what?" Cullen glances to Leliana next to Josephine, hoping she might give him a clue, but instead she's just watching him too.

"This fashion show you were in!" Josephine says. "The one you didn't invite us to."

"Or even tell us about," Leliana adds, leaning past Josephine a little. "We had to hear it from Varric."

"Yes!" Josephine exclaims. "That's even worse!"

Cullen shrugs and buys himself a few moments by sipping his beer. How had Varric heard? Cullen certainly hadn't said anything to him. He glances over to where Varric's sitting, in a booth a few feet away. Hawke is with him, both men laughing loudly, surrounded by people that Cullen doesn't know and that he suspects neither Varric nor Hawke know either. Hawke leans forward towards the others, talking and gesturing madly. He glances at Cullen as he speaks and gives him a quick smile and a wink.

And there's the answer to that question.

Josephine is still waiting for him to say something, however. "It was really sudden," Cullen says, his tone calm to convey just how much of a non-issue the whole thing is—to him, anyway. "Plus, I was certain I'd be terrible."

"And were you?" Josephine asks.

"I've been assured that I wasn't, but I don't know…"

"Oh, I'm sure you were just fine; you're rather naturally graceful, somehow." Josephine pauses to sip at her cooler, glancing at Leliana as if to confirm, who nods. "Who was the designer?"

Cullen's stomach flops at even the indirect mention of Dorian, and he feels his cheeks heat up a little. Thankfully it's dark, so the blush should go unnoticed. "You, uh… you wouldn't know him. Very new, not well-known…"

Josephine giggles, turning to face Cullen more directly. "Cullen! You must tell me now, if you're so concerned about keeping him a secret."

With a sigh, Cullen looks up to the ceiling briefly. "Really, Josie, it's—"

Leliana swoops in then, slinking an arm around Josephine's waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. "Let him be, Josie, love. If Cullen doesn't want to say, he doesn't need to."

Leliana turns to peck Josephine's cheek and winks at Cullen before she does, but it's the furthest thing from reassuring. She may have spared him now, but if she wants to find out more about Dorian, she will. She's found out more with less. The woman has more contacts in her phone than Cullen's ever known anyone to have, and her social media snooping skills are unrivalled.

Taking the opportunity to end the conversation for good, Cullen pulls his phone from his pocket and opens his text conversation with Dorian. There isn't anything new, but he feels like he needs the out, and he's already reread the last few messages tonight, so what's once more? The last exchange was started by Dorian, a couple hours ago. _Felix dragging me out against my will tonight. would certainly rather spend it in with you, very alone and very naked_.

Naturally the message had come in while Cullen was already out, sandwiched between Leliana and Varric at dinner. He'd tried to shield his screen as best he could and typed out a hasty reply, _Nothing I'd like more_ , and there hadn't been anything else from Dorian after that.

When he finally looks up from the message, Josephine and Leliana have disappeared from beside him. He pockets his phone and scans the packed club for them. Between Leliana's bright red hair and Josephine's purple and yellow top, they're easy to spot. She and Leliana are dancing, crammed between other bodies out on the floor, but neither seem to mind the closeness it forces them into. Josephine has both arms linked loosely around Leliana's neck, and Leliana's leaned in close, obviously whispering things to her that she finds highly amusing, for how much she's smiling. It's infectious, making Cullen smile to see it. Their relationship is the ideal, he thinks—exactly what he'd hope for, for himself.

He tips his beer bottle up for another drink, but it's empty now. He sighs and heads for the bar, leaving the empty bottle on Varric and Hawke's table as he passes. He smiles at them when he leans in to set it down, but pretends not to hear Hawke calling him back as he walks away. Cullen likes Varric just fine, but Hawke is… insufferable, frankly, and— really, Cullen barely knows the guy, but Varric brings him nearly everywhere, so he's hard to avoid. And with the image of that grin he'd given Cullen a little while ago still fresh in his mind, Cullen's not eager to give the guy any sort of opening, regardless of how much he may or may not know.

Cullen approaches the bar, wondering just how Dorian knows Hawke, assuming that's the case. Which is entirely likely, because bloody everyone seems to know Hawke. He orders another beer as well as a shot of whiskey and downs the shot before pushing away from the bar. There's a railing just behind him overlooking the recessed dance floor and he goes up to it, leaning against it on both forearms. He surveys the crowd as he takes frequent, absentminded sips of his beer. His eyes fall on Josephine and Leliana again, and this time, they're putting on a tipsy imitation of swing dancing. Cullen chuckles and lets his gaze carry on, over the dance floor to the other side of the club, filled with more booths and the VIP section.

And it's then he spots Felix, or at least someone who could easily pass as his double, behind the ropes of the VIP. Cullen leans forward a little more, squinting to get a better look, but there are too many people in the way, and Felix—or maybe not-Felix—has just turned away. It's not entirely implausible that this is where Felix and Dorian ended up tonight, but it's entirely more likely that it's all just wishful thinking on Cullen's part.

Almost like an oasis, if one could call a person an oasis. _Certainly thirsty enough_ , he chides himself dryly, bringing his beer to his lips again.

When he lowers it, his eyes automatically return to the VIP section, but now the crowds have parted slightly and Cullen sees Dorian. Actually Dorian too, not some bizarre conjuration of his touch-starved mind. He's sitting on a bench, flanked by people, with a flute in his hand. He's wearing a simple black tank top, a little oversized so it hangs off him loosely, and Cullen can make out even more of his tattoos. It's too far a distance for any detail of course, but the number and placement of them are clear. There's a lot—across both of his shoulders and the top of his chest, added to the ones Cullen's already seen on his arms and the one on the side of his neck. The thought of someday getting Dorian naked and laying him out to do a full inventory occurs to him then, and it lingers.

Cullen briefly considers approaching, to pull Dorian away, but there are too many people around him. And they're all young, and attractive, and put together, and… would in all likelihood turn their noses up at some unemployed, failed chef, striding up to ask the attention of their friend. But perhaps he can get Dorian to come to him…

He balances his beer bottle in one hand and fishes his phone from his pocket. The screen is still set to Dorian's text thread when Cullen unlocks it, and he starts typing a new message with his free thumb. It takes a lot of autocorrect, and backspacing when even that can't make sense of his awkward key strokes, but he manages.

_How's your night so far? Still being held against your will?_

Cullen keeps his phone out, just in case, and brings his beer to his lips. He tries hard not to continue watching Dorian, waiting to see him reach for his phone when he gets the text. Assuming he hears it—the pitch of the music and the crowd is near-deafening, after all. But Cullen can't help but steal a few glances, catching glimpses of Dorian at the most candid Cullen's yet seen him. Even then, unguarded and relaxed, talking and laughing with his friends, he exudes this confidence and magnetism that make it hard for Cullen to look away.

A booth to the left of Cullen becomes free then, so he goes to take it. He sits facing the rest of the club, going against the instinct that would normally have him with his back to everything. He can still see Dorian from the booth, but he doesn't let himself stare any longer.

His phone vibrates a few moments later, skittering across the table a little as it does. _unfortunately. not the most entertaining of evenings but at least the bubbly's flowing ;)_

The corner of Cullen's mouth hitches up a little at the winky face. _I've a booth across the room from you, if you want to come say hi_ , he texts back.

And he can't help but look up at Dorian now, waiting for his reaction. After a moment, he sees Dorian look at his phone, then up and straight ahead. His head whips from side to side, craning his neck to presumably see around the clutches of people around him.

_what? you're at Provocateur right now? I don't see you…_

_Head towards the bar, won't miss me._

Cullen sees Dorian get up a moment later, gliding past people and out of the VIP. Cullen loses sight of him after that, swallowed up by the crowd, only to resurface shortly after, next to Cullen's booth. He smiles warmly when they see each other, and in his next movement he's beside Cullen, cupping the side of his face and leaning in for a quick kiss to the other cheek. Cullen tries to angle for a more full-on kiss, but Dorian's pulling away before he can manage.

"What a lovely surprise you are…" Dorian says, sliding in next to Cullen. He automatically turns his body inwards, bracing his elbow on the back of the booth.

Cullen smiles, letting his eyes travel over Dorian's face for a moment before replying. "I would say the same of you."

Dorian hums, smiling back. Cullen can smell him despite the several—too many, really—inches between them; it's the same cologne as he'd been wearing before, at the show. Musky and rich, tinged with some sort of spice, and the sense memory is enough to set off a jolt of arousal through him.

"Are you here alone?"

Cullen shakes his head, reaching for his beer and taking a sip. "With a few friends. They're off dancing."

He realises then that Dorian didn't bring his drink with him, so Cullen holds the bottle out in offer. Dorian takes it, his fingers brushing clearly deliberately across Cullen's as he does. "And you're not a dancer?" he asks, before tipping the bottle up.

"Not when I can help it."

Dorian chuckles. "Maybe you've just not found the right partner, dear Cullen." He takes another quick drink of the beer and hands the bottle back. "Why didn't you come over? There's champagne over there."

"Oh, you're with your friends, and I—"

"No, no, no," Dorian says, shaking his head and waving his hand as if to dismiss the notion. "Those _aren't_ my friends. Just people. Some I know, most I don't. Acquaintances at best. 'Friend' is a label I reserve for a very select group of people; I’m _very_ picky, you see."

Cullen nods and doesn't say that that doesn't change much from his perspective. Instead, he shifts closer to Dorian, their legs brushing together. He drops his hand from where it rests on the table to Dorian's thigh, a little higher than halfway. "Well, either way, you're here now, so that's good for me."

He leans in, squeezing Dorian's thigh, expecting Dorian to close the distance. But he doesn't. Instead he stiffens a little, enough that Cullen can see the change in his posture, and his eyes suddenly flick away, scanning over Cullen's shoulder, in the direction of the rest of the club. It's a quick thing, too quick for Cullen to comment on it, before Dorian's attention is back on him. Cullen shifts to pull away and give him more space, but in the same movement Dorian leans in and meets Cullen's lips. The kiss is soft and warm, but Dorian's body is still cagey and taught. They separate after a few moments, and Cullen instinctively leans forward for another, but Dorian backs away fully this time.

He smiles when their eyes meet again, and it's too wide and not quick enough to mask the anxious expression that was there just before it. "I really ought to get back, I'm afraid. Moving on elsewhere shortly, you know."

"Ahh," Cullen says. He clears his throat and straightens his posture in the booth, returning both hands above the table. "Somewhere good, hopefully." It's an attempt at feigning nonchalance, but it certainly feels like it falls flat.

If Dorian notices, he doesn't make it known and carries on as if Cullen hadn't said anything at all. "Shall we rain check? For the weekend, perhaps? I _do_ so miss seeing you in daylight, Cullen."

"Yeah, sure." Cullen nods, though it's less in agreement and more from not knowing what else to say.

"I'll text you," Dorian says, shifting out of the booth. "Enjoy the rest of your night. At least one of us ought to." He gives Cullen a quick wink and disappears into the crowd.

Cullen leans back against the booth with a delayed, muttered "yeah," his eyes focused on something in the middle distance, wondering what the fuck just happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [pfaerie](http://pfaerie.tumblr.com) did a really really adorable drawing of a scene from this chapter, [over here](http://pfaerie.tumblr.com/post/122033482038/btw-im-addicted-to-this-fic-ty)!

Dorian had said he'd text Cullen. And Cullen's been patient, prepared to wait for him to do just that, to let him do this by his terms. But that was Wednesday night and now it's Friday afternoon and… nothing.

It could be that that'd just been Dorian's way of blowing him off, ending whatever this is or was, gently and quietly. It's not what Cullen wants, but if it turned out to be what Dorian wanted, he'd abide by it and move on. But he's also not convinced that that's the case. Because it could just as easily be that Dorian's unsure about contacting him, unsure whether Cullen would really want him to. He had, after all, reacted a bit coolly to whatever Dorian's issue had been. Dorian's demeanour had been the exact opposite of what Cullen had expected, after the so-called night cap, after the texts, and he'd had no idea how to react to it so he went with his instinct and clammed up. But despite all of that, he still wanted to see Dorian.

But going somewhere public doesn't seem like the right course to take. And he certainly can't invite himself over to Dorian's, so a dinner at home feels like the ticket.

He decides to call Dorian, rather than text him, for no other reason than he rather selfishly wants to hear his voice.

And a smile spreads over Cullen's lips, unbidden, when Dorian answers the call. "Well, look who it is on my call display," he says, sing-song.

"I hope you don't mind me calling…" Cullen says, thinking to give Dorian an out at the get-go, should he need to take it.

"Mind? I most certainly don't mind one bit."

"Well, that makes me feel a bit more at ease, I have to say." Cullen clears his throat before pressing on. "I've just been thinking about you, and wondered if maybe you'd like to come over to mine for dinner tomorrow."

Dorian hums, and Cullen can nearly hear the smile in it. "I've been thinking about you too, Cullen, and that would be lovely. Only, it's a shame that dinner is in the evening… I _was_ serious about wanting to see you in daylight, you know."

Cullen laughs, a short and breathy thing that's almost as much an exhale of relief. "Well, I was thinking of dropping by the farmer's market at Union Square for a few things first, if you wanted to join…"

"There's nothing I'd like more," Dorian says, his tone dropping off into a near-purr towards the end. "What time shall I meet you there?"

 

Cullen—and Dijon—arrive at the farmer's market just after four o'clock, to find Dorian waiting for them near the entrance. He smiles broadly when his and Cullen's eyes meet, and Cullen pointedly does not make the first move. He has no idea what's 'acceptable' for Dorian at this point, so he leaves it to him to call the shots. Dorian's hand reaches out and slides slowly up Cullen's arm, resting just above his elbow, before Dorian leans in to kiss his cheek.

"It's good to see you." Dorian's lips linger over Cullen's skin, and it makes him shiver.

"You too," Cullen says as they separate. "You look good." And he does. Cullen has to fight the urge to let his eyes travel over Dorian's form.

"Likewise, of course." Dorian doesn't resist, letting his gaze drop over Cullen's chest and a bit lower than that, before flicking his eyes back up to meet Cullen's with another smile. "May I?" he asks, gesturing to Cullen's hand that holds Dijon's leash.

Cullen hands it over, and watches as Dorian bends over to greet Dijon. "Hold tight when we get to any butcher stalls. Or any with baked goods."

Dorian laughs, standing up and adjusting the leash in his grip. "Baked goods, hmm? Has our boy got a taste for pastry?" he asks, turning back to Dijon.

Dijon barks twice and pants, prancing around between Dorian and Cullen.

"Yeah, he gets it from me," Cullen says dryly, smirking. "And look at that, you owe him one now. He's partial to cherry danish, F.Y.I."

They set off into the market and Cullen falls into his usual pattern, visiting stalls in the same order that he usually does. Dorian follows with Dijon, examining the different offerings with interest.

"What's on the menu, then?" Dorian asks once Cullen's made a few purchases. "I'm very much looking forward to seeing you in your element…"

Cullen smiles to himself, his attention set on picking out the perfect bunch of asparagus. He makes a choice and pays for it, turning to look at Dorian as he slips the bundle into his cloth carry bag. "Asparagus, twenty ways," he says, giving Dorian a crooked smile 

Dorian chuckles and returns the smile. "You joke, but if you could find twenty different ways to prepare asparagus, I would be wholly impressed."

"Is that a challenge? Because I can think of… eight, off the top of my head."

"Then I'll give you until the second time you cook dinner for me to come up with the other twelve."

"Deal," Cullen says with a laugh and moves along to the next stall, watching as Dorian and Dijon start to follow.

They don't say much else after that, but it doesn't feel awkward. Rather, it's as though they're both aware that they need to talk, to make sure they're really on the same page, before they can move onto whatever else lays beyond it, but that they'll have a better chance later. So instead it's idle chat and commentary, Cullen finishing collecting what he needs, and Dorian tearing off chunks of the cherry danish he's bought and feeding them to a very enthusiastic Dijon.

And they walk back to Cullen's place a while later, Dorian still holding Dijon's leash and Cullen with his carry bag. He feels Dorian's hand slip up against his, entwining their fingers. He looks down at their joined hands, more than a little in disbelief, and then he looks over at Dorian. For his part, he's still looking ahead, but he has a soft smile on his face.

 

Their fingers stay wrapped around each other's all the way until the moment Cullen has to untangle them in order to unlock his front door. He leads Dorian inside and they both stop to take off their shoes, and for the first time there's an awkward moment of _what next_.

But it's only a moment, because Dorian quickly ends it. "Dijon's offered to give me the tour, while you get situated," he says, smiling at Cullen while he idly strokes one of the dog's ears.

It's just the right sort of set up for a joke, as Cullen's instinct would normally prompt him to react. But something in the way Dorian's smiling at him, fond but tentative still, makes him instead smile back and nod with a quiet, "okay."

With Dorian and Dijon headed towards the back of the apartment, Cullen goes to the kitchen and sets about putting away what groceries need to be, and arranging ingredients for what he's going to be making for dinner. He's halfway into the fridge, trying to decide between the breasts of chicken or the filets of salmon sitting on the bottom shelf, when he hears Dijon's claws _click click click_ down the hardwood and onto the granite tiling in the kitchen.

"Dorian, your thoughts on salmon?" he calls, figuring that Dorian can't be too far behind Dijon.

"My dear Cullen," Dorian answers, and he's much closer than expected. Cullen straightens and watches Dorian walk towards the kitchen. Only, he doesn't simply _walk_ ; rather, he _saunters_ , as if he's been by a million times, dragging a hand across the back of the couch as he passes it and leaning a hip against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "There is very little I don't like when it comes to food."

Cullen nods once and reaches for the fish from the fridge. "Salmon it is, then."

"And alongside the salmon?"

Cullen turns back towards the counter he'd arranged his ingredients on—which, to this point, is largely just asparagus and sundry things like olive oil and a lemon. "Asparagus," he says, fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Mmm, practising for next time, I see." Dorian doesn't bother hiding his smile. "Is there anything I can do?" he asks, tilting his head a little as he looks at Cullen. "I mean, I'm already doing a fabulous job at propping up this island counter, but I _am_ a good multitasker."

Cullen chuckles, looking at Dorian over his shoulder. "You're more than welcome to stand around and look pretty, Dorian. But if you like, you could go pick out a wine to go with the fish. The wine fridge is just there," he says, pointing to the far wall of the kitchen.

Dorian nods and pulls off a sharp salute. "Yes, chef!"

They both laugh, Cullen shaking his head as he turns back to the food. He's rather surprised, still, that the atmosphere between them is as easy as it is—by all rights, it should be at last a little strained, especially for him, given that he was on the receiving end of Dorian's sort-of dismissal the other night. But despite that, he feels good and relaxed and just glad to have Dorian here in the first place.

 He hears the soft clink of bottles being shifted about, and Dorian remarks a moment later, "your selection is excellent, Cullen. I'm impressed."

"All the doing of the sommelier at Wunderbar," Cullen says, as he trims the ends of the asparagus. "When it'd become obvious that the place was going to be shuttered sooner than later, she and I raided the cellar. Half of it all was on the 'reserve list,' so it wasn't inventoried, and the management used to just take bottles all the time and _never_ repaid a thing. So we figured, why not us too, after everything."

Dorian laughs, coming back to the island with a bottle of rosé. "One final 'fuck you?'"

Cullen nods, smiling broadly at Dorian over his shoulder. "Exactly that." He lays down his knife and goes to fetch some glasses from the cupboard. "It's not such a surprise that the place went under, huh?" he says, placing the glasses in front of Dorian.

"Not if management was helping themselves to things that way, no." Dorian twists the cap off the bottle, looking across the island at Cullen as he lifts the bottle to sniff it. "But, perhaps it was all meant to go this way," he says, pouring the first glass of wine and pushing it towards Cullen. "Who knows what bigger, better opportunity is waiting around the corner for you."

Cullen hums, fiddling with the base of the glass while Dorian pours his own wine. He'd heard the notion before, from several people—it'd been the platitude _du jour_ for a while. But it's different from Dorian because it's _true_ , Cullen realises then. If not for Wunderbar closing, he and Dijon wouldn't have been to that random, out of the way coffee shop in the middle of the day, and he'd never have even met Dorian. Sure, their professional circles aren't too far removed, but even if they'd intersected in some other place, at some other time, would they have even spoken beyond a few niceties?

"Well?" Dorian's voice cuts into Cullen's thoughts then. "Shall we?" He's holding his glass out to Cullen, one eyebrow quirked.

Cullen nods quickly, coming back to the present. The present, which is Dorian standing in his kitchen, waiting to toast the wine he's just poured before they share dinner together. The 'what ifs' and the 'could have beens' don't matter now, either way.

"Absolutely," Cullen says, holding out his glass and clinking it lightly against Dorian's.

"To fate." Dorian smiles, slow and warm, watching Cullen as he takes his first sip. "The fickle, fickle witch that she is."

Cullen huffs, nodding. Count on Dorian, apparently, to find the perfect segue out of an otherwise heady scenario. It seemed to be a talent of his.

Cullen goes back to preparing their dinner, seasoning the fish with pepper and rock salt, and roasting the asparagus in olive oil. He glances at Dorian after closing the oven door, and finds him draped across the island, propped up on his forearms, watching Cullen intently.

"This isn't overly complicated stuff; you don't need to look quite so fascinated."

"Cullen, the extent of my cooking skills goes as far as bowls of cereal and dry scrambled eggs. This is very exciting for me, thank you very much."

 

With the asparagus almost finished, Cullen sets about cooking the salmon. While it cooks, he puts down place settings on the island, pointedly ignoring Dorian's offer to do it instead.

"Sorry I don't have a dining table," Cullen says, as he's dishing out their food. "It's a rare enough occasion that I actually bother to sit down to eat as it is."

Dorian shushes Cullen and waves the apology away. "You've made us this gorgeous salmon—you could tell me to eat out in the corridor and I'd be pleased to, Cullen."

Dorian settles onto a stool as Cullen sets a plate in front of him. Cullen takes the stool around the corner of the island so they can face each other, and Dorian refreshes their wine.

It's quiet during the first few bites, until Dorian breaks the silence with a pleased hum.

"This is excellent, Cullen, honestly. I've never had salmon done so simply that didn't also turn out dry or flavourless, and that's being generous.

Cullen smiles, genuinely pleased that it's to Dorian's taste. He could receive all the accolades imaginable from critics and reviews, but the only approval of his cooking that he's only ever cared much about is that of family and friends. "Good, I'm glad you like it," he says, reaching for his wine.

"Very much." Dorian sets his utensils down then, and everything in his body language turns edged and serious. "But I must say, I feel I owe you an explanation…"

And Cullen knows what he means, but his gut prompts him to deflect." It's really okay, Dorian, you don't owe me anything." Even though he _is_ curious about Dorian's motivations the other night, he dislikes the idea of Dorian feeling obligated to him over it even more. Whatever the reasoning, it's probably a personal thing. And beyond that, their easy, enjoyable evening so far has him caring much less about the whole thing as much as he did, even earlier in the day.

Dorian smiles, though it's a touch placating. "You may well be right, but that doesn't change the fact that I _feel_ I do. And trust me, this is the kind of thing that festers and grows sick and…" his voice trails off, and he exhales deeply. "From previous experience. So if it's okay, I'd like to first say my piece, and then we can carry on pretending as though we're both perfect without any sort of baggage at our heels."

And how can Cullen argue with that? It's the truth, he knows, even if he doesn't know what Dorian's about to say. So he nods and gives Dorian a quiet "okay."

Dorian takes another deep breath, and a long sip of wine. "I suppose it sounds a bit like a cop out to say I'm a product of my upbringing," he starts," but such as it is. The way one is conditioned as a child and in their formative years is a powerful thing." He pauses to eat a little more, and all Cullen can do is nod, not wanting to interrupt because—as he'd suspected—this is headed for personal territory. "Where I grew up, in the society we lived in, affection between two men is frowned upon at best, and eradicated at worst. Which, of course, isn't to say it never happens—oh, it most certainly does, and it has for time immemorial. But it's not a public thing; people go to great lengths to avoid broadcasting any such feelings or inclinations. Not that any of this excuses my behaviour the other night, I know that, but it's not something I've been able to shake to this point."

Dorian stops talking, and focuses on his meal again. He doesn't look at Cullen, so Cullen has no idea what's expected of him, now. He follows suit and eats a bit more too.

After the quiet stretches on for a few moments, Cullen finally clears his throat softly and says, "I understand, Dorian. I do. It's not something I've had to deal with personally in my own upbringing, but I'm certainly not ignorant of the fact that that sort of prejudice exists for a lot of other people."

Dorian nods, looking up at Cullen. His expression is hard to read—vulnerable; pleading, maybe—and he must know it because he covers it all up with another smile. "It wasn't fair for me to not have told you earlier, or to not have at least handled it like an _adult_. It's not something I've ever talked much about… not even with Felix; he's always just known, growing up with it too. And there's never…" he pauses, clearing his throat, and his eyes flick away and down. "There's never been anyone that's warranted the explanation, until you."

Cullen watches, waiting for Dorian to look at him again. When he does, Cullen smiles, trying to feed as much warmth into it as he can. "Until me, you say…?" His tone is teasing, and he hopes the attempt at humour doesn't completely ruin everything.

Luckily, the corner of Dorian's mouth hitches up. "You heard me," he says coyly, reaching for his wine. "Admittedly, it's something I've engineered myself."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, I certainly haven't lived like some order of monk, so to speak. But my _relationships_ ," Dorian says, gesturing quotation marks around the word, "have been private, and they've been lucky to last beyond a night or two. Which hasn't always been my preference… I know that I'd like to have something more serious, with the right person." Dorian smiles again, broader this time, almost like a kid who's got a big secret, and then he drops his gaze to his nearly-empty plate. "Not that I'd know how to go about that, but I'd like to venture an attempt. With you." He looks back up to meet Cullen's eyes again, and quickly adds, "if that's not too forward."

Dorian's looking at him, after just saying… all of that, and Cullen… has no idea what to say in return. It's a lot to process, but it's nothing that he hadn't already hoped for, either. But Dorian's just laid so much of himself bare and Cullen's left gaping at him like the fish they'd just eaten, all because he can't pin the right words down.

Dorian clears his throat then, covering his mouth with his fist and averting his eyes. "I apologise, Cullen, that was a little sudden of me, I know, I—"

"No, Dorian, it's not—" Cullen gets off his stool and goes to stand next to Dorian. "It's not that," he says, voice quiet, and he leans down to kiss Dorian, cupping the side of his face.

Cullen feels, hears Dorian inhale sharply when their lips connect, and then he hums and all but melts into Cullen. His arm comes up around Cullen's neck, and he tilts his head into his hand. Cullen curls his fingers in, pressing against the close-shorn hair at the back of Dorian's head. But he needs more, so he pulls Dorian up off the stool and crowds him against the island. He braces both hands on the counter, leaning into Dorian, kissing him urgent and deep, and Dorian's hands go to his hips, pulling him closer still until they're flush where it counts.

Dorian moves his lips to Cullen's jaw, kissing along to the hollow by his ear. "I was gonna make dessert…" Cullen says and immediately he regrets it, because… really? This is where his mind goes?

Dorian chuckles and Cullen can feel the short, hot puffs of air on his skin. "Mmm? And what's for dessert?" His tongue darts out to flick Cullen's earlobe before he captures it lightly between his teeth.

"Str-strawberry soufflé." And Dorian's got him near to panting, at this point.

Dorian rolls his hips into Cullen's, using his grip on his belt for leverage. "Sounds lovely, but it would sound even better for breakfast, wouldn't you think…?"

Cullen groans at the suggestion, turning his face in to kiss at Dorian's neck. "That could be arranged…" he rasps.

And in the next moment, Dorian's pushing away from the island at the same time that Cullen's pulling him off it, and they stagger down the hall, still connected at the lips.


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen walks backwards, guiding Dorian down the hall and pulling him into the bedroom, their lips only breaking apart briefly for Dorian to gasp when Cullen pushes him against the wall near the closet. Cullen tilts Dorian's head back, deepening the kiss now that they have the leverage, rolling their tongues together over and over. Dorian's hands beeline to the hem of Cullen's shirt, getting up under the fabric and feeling across the warm, smooth skin of his stomach. His abs are soft, clearly there but not overdefined, and Dorian feels them twitch as his fingers glance over them. He slides his hands up to roam further, over Cullen's chest, through the hair dusted over his pecs, and around to his back and up to his shoulder blades. He moves to pull Cullen's t-shirt off, and Cullen only takes his hands off Dorian long enough for the shirt to go.

Cullen's mouth is insistent and desperate but his hands are still gentle, cradling Dorian's face and the back of his head, soft as they drift down over Dorian's shoulders before turning on a dime and tugging his shirt off, quick enough to make Dorian lose his footing.

And Dorian appreciates the enthusiasm— _loves_ it, really—but he can't be the only one sent stumbling, here. So once he rights himself, he cups his hand over the bulge of Cullen's dick through his jeans and rubs him with tight pressure. Cullen moans, which feels a victory unto itself until he takes it further, leaning in and bracing against the wall with his forearm, his head bent forward. His breath is coming harder now, soft pants that Dorian feels against his bare chest, and then his hips jerk forward twice, sharp and erratic.

Dorian gets the hint, and moves his hand up to the waist of Cullen's jeans. The backs of his fingers lightly dance over Cullen's skin as he works the button open, and Cullen shivers a little. Dorian starts tugging his pants down and gets part way, before Cullen interrupts and takes over, yanking them down the rest of the way.

"Yours too." His voice is barely more than breath when he speaks.

Dorian smirks, greedy with his eyes on Cullen as he braces his shoulders against the wall behind him, pulling his pants down and stepping out of them.

Both naked now, Cullen pulls Dorian by the hand away from the wall and guides him onto the bed. He leans down to kiss him, helping to pull him up the bed at the same time Dorian's pushing himself back towards the pillows. And then Cullen leans over him, reaching over into one of the bedside tables. He pulls out a small bottle of lube and a condom, and tosses them onto the bed; the lube is cold against Dorian's skin when it rolls next to his leg. Cullen shifts again and starts kissing down Dorian's body. He's got one hand around Dorian, at the small of his back, and the other trails down Dorian's chest after his mouth, and Dorian's feeling rather pinned to the spot. Exactly where Cullen wants him, and all that. It's a good place to be, he thinks.

The hand at Dorian's back shifts lower and Cullen's fingers slip into the cleft of his ass. They graze just barely across Dorian's hole and he gasps, arching up a little and pressing harder against Cullen's mouth. He feels Cullen smile against his skin, and then he takes the slightest nip before his hand continues down, stopping at the back of Dorian's balls. He keeps kissing lower and lower, over Dorian's stomach, his hips, his upper inner thigh. It's a lot of sensation all at once and Dorian can feel himself fraying at the edges already, mewling and groaning under his breath. And he doesn't even need to say anything before Cullen's got him in his mouth.

Cullen swirls his tongue around Dorian's tip, passes it back and forth through the slit of it, and then sinks down further with his free hand gripping Dorian at the root. He rocks his thumb in circles where it rests at the underside of Dorian's cock, and between that and the complete, total wet heat of Cullen's mouth, Dorian moans, long and loud.

"That's so good…" he says, his voice low, bringing a hand up to card through Cullen's hair at the same time. He strokes his hand through the big, soft curls, wanting to feel it.

And then Cullen pulls off, looking up Dorian's torso at him, and breathlessly, he says, "pull it," before tipping his head back down to swallow Dorian again.

Dorian groans at the request, at the wave of arousal it sets off through him, and he wastes no time doing it, tightening his fingers into Cullen's hair. He tugs his head to the side a little, the tip of his dick hitting the side of Cullen's mouth, and he does it far enough that his cock almost slips out—until Cullen growls low and pulls against Dorian's hand to right himself. Dorian curses under his breath over Cullen's hunger for him, but keeps his hand exactly as it is, following the motions of Cullen's head.

And it seems to work for Cullen, because he hums and starts working his head in longer strokes, keeping his tongue rigid and pressed to the underside of Dorian's cock.

Dorian sighs deeply, relishing the thorough attention Cullen's giving him, and he breathes out Cullen's name as he exhales. Cullen's eyes flick up to meet his, and it's hard to tell with the angle, but it looks like his lips pull into a crooked smile around Dorian's cock.

He's still got his other hand underneath Dorian, lightly palming his balls, and then his fingers drift up to graze over his hole again. Dorian's breath hitches, catching in his throat, and he instantly arcs, bearing his hips down against Cullen's hand.

Cullen pulls his mouth off Dorian again, and this time he peppers the skin around Dorian's groin with light kisses.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the soft smack of Cullen's lips and Dorian's heavy breathing. Then Cullen speaks, not looking up from where his mouth is focused.

"Dorian, can I fuck you?"

Dorian's still panting, looking down his body at the top of Cullen's head, and he shakes his head, a little in disbelief. This is all beginning to become unlike any other encounter he's ever had, and that's not a bad thing, at all. "Yes, fuck…" he gasps out, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "Yes."

Right away Dorian feels Cullen reach for the bottle of lube still lying against his leg. He hears Cullen open it and slick up his fingers, and then he feels Cullen slowly start to work him open, and Dorian groans under his breath at the contact.

Cullen takes his cock into his mouth again, sucking him off while he works Dorian up from one finger to two.

"Cullen, you're— you're so…" Dorian's voice trails off because he can't even articulate it. It's too much. Cullen is _everything_ , right now.

Cullen hums, slowly fucking and twisting his two fingers into Dorian, and then he comes up for a kiss. Dorian wraps an arm tightly around Cullen's neck, savouring the kiss. Cullen's got him mewling into it, still working him open, and then he adds a third finger and it's so much more that Dorian moans, right into Cullen's mouth.

"Mmm, I'm ready," Dorian mutters against Cullen's lips, when he can't take it anymore. "I'm ready."

Cullen nods and stills his fingers, kissing Dorian hard and sucking on his bottom lip a little before pulling away. He sits back on his haunches, reaching for the condom. He strokes himself a few times, biting his lip, and Dorian lifts up onto his elbows to watch him.

"You're beautiful," he says, not even necessarily intending to speak, but Maker, is it the truth.

Cullen smirks, glancing up at Dorian once he's gotten the condom on. "And you're biased…"

Dorian chuckles. "Having a bias doesn't automatically make one wrong, and besides that, I've an eye for these things."

Cullen shifts forward and positions himself, taking Dorian by the hip. He takes himself in hand and lines up, pressing into Dorian slowly.

"Oh you do, do you?" he says, the words bitten off between breaths, as he buries himself further into Dorian.

Dorian lets his legs go slack and he sighs deeply, his head tipped back into the pillows and his hands curling into the bedsheets.

The question goes unanswered.

Cullen keeps a steady pace as he enters Dorian, but he snaps his hips forward suddenly to bottom out. He draws up closer, crowding into Dorian's space and lifting one of his legs to rest on his shoulder. He braces one hand on Dorian's hip, keeping him pinned against the bed, and the other further up the bed.

Immediately Dorian brings one hand back to grip Cullen's arm closest to his head. They're connected at as many points as possible in this position but not in the way that Dorian really wants, so he uses his free hand to cup the back of Cullen's neck and pulls him down for a kiss. For his part, Dorian has to lean up to meet Cullen's mouth, folding himself in half just to get there, but he needs it.

The kiss is awkward; no form, just lips touching however they can and hard breaths. Cullen's hair falls forward over his forehead as his hips keep working, moving from slow, deep thrusts to sharper, harder ones that fill the room with the dull slap of skin against skin.

Cullen moves his hand from where it pushes down on Dorian's hip to grip him there instead, using it for leverage to pull Dorian into him with each downthrust. He rolls his hips, twisting into Dorian when their bodies meet and finally the head of his cock connects with Dorian's prostate. Dorian cries out, arching sharply off the bed with a raspy "yes."

Cullen chuckles, not breaking pace at all. "Mmm, just like that then, yeah?" he says, moments before rolling his hips down into Dorian again.

Dorian groans, the contact with his prostate too perfect, and then he huffs out a laugh too. "Don't get smug."

Cullen hums and smirks, biting his lip. His hair's a tangled flop of curls and his face is flushed and sheened with sweat. He thrusts into Dorian and twists his hips once more.

"Ohh, fuuuck…" Dorian sighs, bearing down into it.

Something must shift in Cullen then, because he loses all joking pretence and his eyes go hungry, edged. "Touch yourself," he tells Dorian, his voice nearly a growl.

Dorian does so without thinking, lost in it as he wraps a hand around his cock. He manages two long, tight strokes before he's mumbling. "Close, so close…"

As if spurred on, Cullen grunts and picks up his pace, before slamming hard into Dorian one last time, keeping his hips flush to Dorian's ass. His head drops, bending forward, and he groans loudly, his hips twitching and jerking erratically against Dorian.

It takes him a moment to come back to, but when he does, he strokes a hand down Dorian's leg still resting at his shoulder. It travels up the side of Dorian's ass, over his hip, up his side, while Cullen keeps himself close and buried inside him. He moves his hand back to Dorian's ass and massages his cheek, deep and with a strong hand, before turning his head to kiss at the inside of Dorian's calf. Dorian lets out a thready moan, working his cock faster, and Cullen watches him do it, as if transfixed.

The weight of Cullen's gaze is enough to end him, and Dorian comes with a gasp, his body going rigid as he spills over his hand and lower stomach.

Dorian's muscles ease and he flattens out on the bed, with his eyes closed and his chest heaving. Cullen pulls out and Dorian hears him toss the condom, then he crawls up over him. Dorian opens his eyes to see him reaching for some tissue, and then Cullen wipes him off, kissing him deeply as he does it. They both smile into the kiss as it ends, and then crawl under the bedsheets. They lie next to each other on their backs, Cullen with the arm tucked up under his head. Dorian rolls over, turning on his side towards him, and rubs his hand in slow, gentle circles over his stomach. Cullen smiles and pulls him in close, pressing a kiss into his hair, and Dorian falls asleep on his chest.

 

Cullen's already awake when Dorian wakes up in the morning. He's lying on his back, face turned toward the window at his right. Dorian can only tell he's awake by the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks, translucent in the sun.

Dorian waits for a few moments, getting his bearings—it's been a long time since he's woken up in someone else's bed—and then he softly clears his throat.

Cullen turns to look at him right away, a smile already on his face. He lifts his arm and wraps it around Dorian's shoulders, pulling him in closer to kiss at his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

Dorian hums, closing his eyes and relishing the attention. "What a lovely way to wake up," he mumbles through a small smile. He's hard too, but he isn't about to do anything about that without some sort of invitation from Cullen.

Cullen nods, his lips still pressed to Dorian's skin. His free hand slips under the bedsheet then; Dorian sees the movement from the corner of his eye. Cullen's hand continues down, passing over his torso, and the way he wraps it around his cock is unmistakable even from Dorian's periphery.

Which is as good an invitation as any, as far as he's concerned.

He shifts up and over Cullen, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him, so they're flush from mouth to groin. Cullen's hands go to Dorian's ass as he starts to rock his hips down, feeling the insistent heat of Cullen's dick up against his own. Cullen answers with his own hips, but maybe sleep still clings to them both because they can't quite get a steady rhythm between them. It's still good though, the frenetic friction of Cullen against him, and they kiss deeply as they come close together, Cullen groaning breathlessly into Dorian's mouth.

They doze a little longer, Dorian perched on top of Cullen, with Cullen's arms wrapped around his shoulders. It's Dijon that finally inspires them to move, with a particularly distressed-sounding whine from the hallway.

"I owe you a breakfast," Cullen says, as they dress. "Or a dessert masquerading as a breakfast."

Dorian chuckles, running both hands through his hair. "So long as it's free of asparagus, you can make me anything you like."

Cullen winks and heads out of the bedroom, calling for and snapping at Dijon as he goes.

Dorian heads towards the kitchen a few minutes later, and somehow there's already coffee brewing and a mixing bowl on the counter. Cullen and Dijon are nowhere to be seen, though, so Dorian settles against the island counter to wait and listen to the coffee percolating. The front door clicks open soon after and Dijon bounds through the door, with Cullen close behind. He leans in for a quick kiss as he comes back to the kitchen, sliding his hand down Dorian's arm.

"Poor kid's back teeth were floating," Cullen says with a smirk as he takes up position in front of the mixing bowl. He cracks several eggs into the bowl, then sets about chopping a basket of strawberries.

"Sorry, dear Dijon," Dorian calls over his shoulder. The dog is already flopped over in front of the living room window, perfectly placed in a patch of sunlight. He huffs when Dorian speaks, his tail thumping on the hardwood.

Dorian turns back to watch Cullen. It's a handful of hours between last night, when Dorian had stood just here at the island, and this morning, but there's so much more between him and Cullen now. And he's made the right decision, he thinks, in telling Cullen everything that he did last night. He couldn't foresee _this_ , those few nights ago when he'd been panicking in the booth at the club, but Maker, what a loss it would've been to have never had the chance for this moment to happen.


	8. Chapter 8

Dorian spends the night at Cullen's apartment five more times, before the tables turn and Cullen stays the night at Dorian's.

He'd taken the necessary precautions, of course. Not one, but two bowls of dry food, set out at strategic points in the apartment, for Dijon to work his way through and then some. A freshly-refilled doggy fountain too, because of course Cullen is _that_ sort of dog owner. And an AstroTurf-covered pee pad big enough to take up half of the apartment's den. The fountain is one thing, but it's at least understated and small, and it makes a calming sort of bubbling sound. The pee pad, rather, is verdantly obvious and nothing short of an eyesore. Wholly embarrassing, really, and Cullen's glad that no one needs to see it except him and Dijon.

Still better than the dog relieving himself on the expensive—and rented—couch, however.

And if the whole thing means Cullen's free to spend more nights at Dorian's like this one, then it's more than worth it. They don't do much after Cullen arrives beyond head straight for the bedroom. Dorian presses Cullen against the bedroom door, delves his tongue and his fingers as deep as they can go but it still doesn't feel like _enough_ to Cullen. And then they find the bed and Dorian takes him there, urgent and needful and perfectly rough. They doze while the sun's in the sky—low and weakened, but there, still—and wake to find it dark and to find each other in the midst of it. Cullen puts his mouth on Dorian, wherever he can get it, pressing against him and sinking down around him. And Dorian indulges him, lets him go as long as he wants, until suddenly he pulls Cullen up and begs to be fucked.

They sleep tangled together, as much as either can stand to in the thick, muggy heat that never seems to fully subside. In the morning, sun shines from the windows but no more than pinpricks through the fabric of the curtains, enough to show it's there but not enough to intrude. Cullen and Dorian's legs are entwined when they wake, their fingers following suit. And they stay that way, dozing and trading soft, simple kisses as the sleep slowly works its way out of both of them.

Dorian pulls himself out of bed after a while, and he holds his hand up when Cullen moves to follow. "Stay," he says, slipping on boxers and a pair of jeans. "I'll breakfast, you bed." He pulls a tank top on next, his hair falling into place, just-so.

And as much as he'd like to stroll hand in hand with Dorian in the early morning sun, Cullen can't argue that he doesn't like the sound of this plan, too. Dorian's bed is large and soft, with more king size pillows than one should reasonably have. But they feel divine, so he lays back and sinks into them, folding both arms behind his head and smiling wide.

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Dorian's gone for half an hour or so, and he comes back bemoaning the perpetual lineups that plague New York bakeries, coffee shops, and delis at all hours but especially in the mornings. He unloads a bag of bagels and cream cheese on Cullen's lap, as he wearily shucks his clothes and crawls back into bed, and Cullen thanks him with a few long kisses. But then he sees that Dorian brought coffee back too and that wins Cullen's attention in the end.

Now they've eaten and caffeinated, and they've migrated to the living room, dressed in only their boxers both. Dorian's set up a game of chess on the chessboard that Cullen hadn't known he'd had, and they sit down to it. It's an ornate thing, with a white and grey marble playfield, and green and black marble pieces. Dorian takes the green set because he always takes green, he says, and it suits Cullen fine because he's just happy for the chance to play.

It's been long enough since he last touched a chessboard that he forgets when it was, exactly. It was a safe bet that his last opponent had been Mia, or maybe Branson. Rosalie never came near the thing; just turned her nose up and scoffed at the very suggestion of learning to play, because whatever she did instead to fill her time just _had_ to be more entertaining and worthwhile, far as she was concerned. The recollection sparks a small smile across Cullen's lips, and with his eyes focused on his end of the board, he misses Dorian make the opening move.

Dorian hums. "I agree, a rather inspired start if I do say so myself. I prefer to go off-book."

Cullen blinks, looking at Dorian as he works out what he means. It's not until he looks back at the board and sees the change in arrangement of the pieces that he realises. "Oh, right… you would go off-book, wouldn’t you?" he chuckles. He resettles into his seat, beginning to study the board to work out his first defence. "I was thinking of my siblings, actually. I used to play with Mia mostly, sometimes Bran. But Rosie would look at you as though you've a spare arm growing out your forehead should you ask her to play."

From the corner of his eye, Cullen sees that one of Dorian's hands settles on the side of the chess table, fingers gripping around the white wood. "You have siblings? Just the three or are there more Rutherfords running about?"

"Just the three. Mia, Branson, Rosalie. Mia's the oldest, then me, then Bran and Rosie." Cullen feels a small wisp of something wistful in his chest and he clears his throat to tamp it down. He sighs a little and moves a pawn forward, having settled on a start. "It's been some time since I've seen any of them."

Cullen looks up, and Dorian's watching him, his head tilted and his mouth pulled into a smile. It's a little unnerving, only because Cullen's aware of exactly how many things that look from Dorian can mean. And at this point, he's not entirely unconvinced it's not to do with the position he just put his pawn into.

"What?"

Dorian laughs lightly, shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing. Just, it's cute. That you have siblings. I've none myself, so it sometimes feels a bit of a novelty."

"And here I thought you were trying to surreptitiously unman me at chess," Cullen says, giving Dorian a half-smile.

"Pshh." Dorian waves the notion away. "I would never, so early in the game." He leans forward then, turning his attention to the playfield. "That comes later."

Cullen scoffs and lets Dorian concentrate, thinking to himself that, really, Dorian had unmanned him already, many days before this one.

 

Dorian plays chess slowly—very slowly. And Cullen's thankful for it, because he too likes to take time considering and evaluating moves, and neither Mia nor Branson ever had much patience for that, by midgame. It's quiet as they play too, little else filling the room beyond cleared throats and thoughtful hums.

It gives Cullen time to take in Dorian's space and really look at it. The last time he'd been in this living room, they'd been… distracted. Tipsy. Focused on each other. Cullen had felt the couch underneath him, when Dorian had straddled him and pinned him to it. But he hadn't noticed how large and plush it is. Looking at it now, he can imagine sinking into it for a nap, Dorian stretched out in front of him and wrapped up in his arms. The couch is set before the large, framed glass windows that take up the front of the room, and it's flanked on either side by two large arm chairs. Each chair is loaded with down with pillows and throws, and the whole little nook is anchored by a big, soft, faux fur rug. Massive bookshelves sit on either side of the windows, their shelves so full that there looks to be no space for anything new.

It's all so different to the impression that the décor of Dorian's office at the ALTUS studio had given off. There, everything was minimalist, stark, functional. Here, it's warm and inviting, and more personal. The dichotomy is interesting, and it couldn't be more apt for Dorian either, Cullen realises. Because Dorian too keeps up a façade around him, a public front that masks his private self. Masks—and protects. He's a man who keeps his vulnerabilities closely guarded. And, Cullen thinks, perhaps that's what's drawn the two of them together, because Maker knows Cullen is the same.

Cullen hears the soft thud of a chess piece being set down on the board and looks over to see Dorian's move. He doesn't seem to favour the long game, as Cullen does—rather, his approach is calculated and apparently aimed to corner his opponent into chokepoints in as few moves as possible. Which is exactly what he's close to doing.

"Seems you've got me where you want me…" Cullen drawls, looking up at Dorian with a smirk.

Dorian grins, leaning back. He braces both elbows on the arms of his chair, and Cullen greedily takes in the sight of all that exposed skin. "Oh, indeed I do." Dorian fixes him with a pointed, warm look. "It _is_ a rather effective strategy I employ."

Reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Dorian, Cullen is sorely tempted to throw the game this turn so that they can head back to bed. Or the couch, perhaps.

But he does also rather like to win, or at least the challenge of a good game, so he considers his next move seriously. Finally deciding on something that might yet save him, he reaches out across the board.

"A tattoo would suit you, you know," Dorian says. He lifts his hand and drags his index finger slowly up the bare skin of Cullen's outstretched forearm. "Just there…"

His touch is so light on the sensitive skin there that it sets off goose bumps on Cullen's arms.

Dorian's foot travels further, past Cullen's knee, along the inside of his thigh—making Cullen's breath hitch—until it quickly diverts to the outside, just before reaching the most sensitive part.

"It's your turn, you know." Cullen shifts his hips forward in his seat a little, feeling himself begin to stir by Dorian's touch.

"Oh, I know it is..." Dorian catches his bottom lip between his teeth, running his fingers idly across the top of his queen, still in her place at the edge of the playfield. "Remember what I said earlier? About unmanning you?"

Cullen shakes his head and reaches down to tickle Dorian's foot lightly. "Such a cheater, you are."

Dorian's about to answer, but he's cut off by a long, low rumble of thunder. The skies open to one of those late summer showers that crops up before it even seems aware of itself. Cullen shifts to look further out the window; he's not sure when the clouds had rolled in, but they have, and they're dark.

"Well, look at that," Dorian says, looking at Cullen with a satisfied expression when he turns back from the window. "I guess this means you'll need to stay until this sorts itself out and dries up."

He sits up then, and focuses on the board again. The downpour will probably outlast the game, at this rate, and as Cullen sees it, it's the best inconvenience possible.


	9. Chapter 9

"But can you imagine? The first show that Gereon gives Felix and me the reigns on, the house lights have just dropped and the models are about to walk—and the audio is dead. Completely dead and never to be revived. I'm standing with the models behind the curtain, holding the first guy back by his blighted belt loop because he'd been that close to stepping out, and Felix is swearing a string of the most inventive curses I've ever heard from anyone—myself included—into his headset over in the sound booth." Dorian chuckles and shakes his head at the memory. It's amusing now, but at the time it had been entirely bone deep mortifying. He paused his retelling to sip his wine, and to listen to Cullen's own laughing.

"Was Gereon even there?" he asks, interested eyes twinkling at Dorian over the lip of his own raised wine glass.

Dorian smiles, setting his glass down. "Oh, he most certainly was. He was behind stage with me, standing off to the side and growing more and more crimson with every second of painful silence. Honestly, I'd begun to wonder if maybe it was so quiet in that warehouse that even the audience could hear Felix's potty mouth, and I'm still not certain they couldn't. After another fifteen seconds or so, I hear Felix just sigh, so deep and so resigned, and I knew that if we were going to do this, we would just need to _do it_ , so I pushed the first model out through the curtain. And off he stumbled like a newborn calf—for about six steps. Then he fell into it, walking along as though everything was completely normal, and Maker bless that boy because he set the tone for the rest of the models after him."

"So they just walked, all of them, in total silence?"

"Save for the whirr of the air conditioning and the tap of their heels on the catwalk, yes. It was actually very striking, in retrospect. Several bloggers and commentators and the like called it an 'inspiring decision' and one that might set off a trend for the next season's shows."

Cullen crooks an eyebrow. "And did it?"

"Bloody hell, no, of course not!" Dorian says. "It was a glaring mistake to anyone who knew anything about running a show; it was only those on the other side of the curtain, so to speak, who were none the wiser. And that is the story of the longest twelve minutes of my life."

They share another laugh, and as though on cue, their waitress comes along to deliver their dishes. It's a new Italian place that they're eating at, that Cullen had wanted to try; somewhere that had garnered a lot of hype in very little time. So far they've only sampled the grilled octopus for starters, and the first half of a very fine bottle of Barolo, but all in, it's been a perfect evening.

"So," Cullen starts, once their plates of pasta have been set down and their wine glasses have been refilled. "I've a bit of news."

His tone is… not like usual, Dorian notices straight away. It's tentative and maybe a bit reserved, where he's normally so easy and certain of what he's saying, when it's just the two of them together. It's impossible to tell whether this is good news or bad that he's about to hear, but Dorian nods and smiles warmly all the same, tilting his head. "Oh? And what's that?"

"Well, I had a call out of the blue from one of my old work mates from London. We'd worked at Meredith's together, the last place I was at before Wunderbar came around, but he'd left a few months before me. Anyway, he's just been picked up as _sous chef_ at a new restaurant opening in Belgravia. Some swanky thing, but it's getting a lot of attention, and they've been having trouble securing an executive chef, so he called me. I've only spoken with the owner over Skype so far, but it sounds promising, lots of creative freedom, and…"

Cullen continues talking; it's Dorian's ability to listen that tapers off. He can feel a hot, bitter knot forming in his stomach, hearing Cullen talk in definitive terms about the offer he's been given, and a sour sickness starts leeching out, seeping into his mood and taking over the easy, light happiness that he'd been feeling just five minutes before.

And it's irksome, this awareness of the way his mood is worsening with every word Cullen says, but it's like a force unto itself, barrelling ahead and ruining Dorian from the inside out and he doesn't know how to get in front of it to stop it.

"I'll stay with Mia for the first while, her house is big enough. And I'll give you her number too. I'll have my mobile, obviously, and that'll be better to use, but… Anyway. At least you'll have it."

Cullen starts talking about Dorian coming to visit, and his tone is optimistic but all it does is bite when it hits Dorian, feeling like a consolation prize. Dorian's meant to return to the UK for a long time, but being that his only reason to would be to see the family he has no desire to see, he hasn't bothered to make the time. This would be a reason, a good reason, but it wouldn't be the same, visiting Cullen. It wouldn't be enough.

His appetite for his food is completely demolished, but the wine in his glass calls to him and he reaches for it, taking a sip that he's sure is obviously too deep but he can't bring himself to care.

All he can focus on is that he's been foolish, so foolish, to let himself fall. To let this morph into something more serious. To let Cullen become the epicentre of himself. And Dorian had known; he'd known what was happening and he'd allowed it, encouraged it even, after that first night spent at Cullen's. He'd lowered his guard and exposed his underbelly—quite literally, he thinks bitterly, as the memory of Cullen laying him out to take him on his back flashes before his mind's eye—only for it all to be ripped away from him just as he was beginning to get comfortable, to accept that maybe this is what his life could be, from now on.

Oh, it's not as though there's nothing else important in Dorian's life. There are many other things happening, good things, with Felix and ALTUS. The reception from the show has been amazing and nonstop, with lots of interest in their next collection. But this… this budding, fledgling thing with Cullen is what has made Dorian most happy. He doesn't _like_ to admit that this is the truth, and Maker knows he hasn't shied away from lying to himself in the past, but the truth is what this is.

Cullen's stopped talking, by now. Dorian shifts his attention away from the dark red depths of his wine glass, to Cullen's face... and he's looking right at Dorian. Through him, maybe.

"It's a lot, I know…" he says, pausing for a long drink of wine. "But what do you think? Of it all?"

Dorian clears his throat, his eyes dropping to the table. He can't very well confess that he'd regressed so far into himself that he'd not heard most of what Cullen had said past the first few sentences. So he fakes it, as he's done so often in the past, with others. As he never expected he'd do, with Cullen.

He looks back up at Cullen, fixing him with a flat look. "It sounds like quite the opportunity."

Cullen nods; a small, quick smile hits his hips. "I think so. At least so far as getting reestablished in London, anyway."

Dorian hums. He turns his attention back to his pasta, focusing on crafting the perfect bite on his fork. "New York's loss is London's gain," he says, his tone lilting. He brings the food to his mouth, and it's cold and unpleasant.

It's meant to be distancing, that comment. To take Dorian and his feelings out of the equation, to keep him from feeling so exposed. And maybe it sticks the landing, Dorian thinks, seeing the way Cullen reacts to it. It's quick, barely more than second, but the expression that passes over his face is telling.

He covers it with another smile, but he sighs as well. Small, a little deflated. "It's not ideal. For this. Between you and me, I mean. But the flight isn't horribly long, and even for a three or four day visit, it would be worthwhile."

"Would that I had a business I could drop on a whim," Dorian says. He hates himself in this moment, but it's an abstract, far-off hate; the burning, bitter hurt is still in the foreground, colouring everything he's saying and thinking.

They don't speak much for the remainder of their meal, which doesn't last long as it is. Dorian's appetite is lost and gone forever, and Cullen is quiet as he finishes off the rest of his own dish. And once the plates have been cleared and the wine's finished save for the dregs in their glasses, Cullen pays the entire bill. It galls Dorian, making the pit in his stomach grow and gape open even further. It's not been a cheap outing, especially not with the wine that Dorian had selected earlier, before everything, because he'd been expecting to at least split the bill, if not cover it himself.

It's another reminder that Cullen's received the bankruptcy payment from Wunderbar. Dorian knows the situation, but now with this news of Cullen's plans to leave, even this simple fact warps inside his head to something ugly. What's to keep Cullen around now, save for to pay out the remaining few months on his apartment lease and buy a plane ticket home? He could have it all settled within a day, should he want to.

The restaurant is somewhere in between either of their apartments, and once outside. Cullen starts walking in the direction of his own. Instantly Dorian thinks he's pushed too far, that Cullen's going to leave him standing here in front of the restaurant and that that will be it. But instead, Cullen reaches back and takes Dorian's hand.

Dorian goes along with it, their fingers curling together in their usual way, because it's as natural as breathing by this point. And once he's done it, he can't bring himself to tear his hand away even though the lingering nastiness of his mood makes him want to.

They walk hand in hand towards Cullen's apartment, his thumb rubbing across the back of Dorian's hand, soft and slow.

After a couple blocks, Dorian looks over at Cullen as they walk. If he feels Dorian's eyes on him, he doesn't act like he does; his eyes keep forward, darting here and there as they navigate packed streets and busy intersections. His thumb hasn't stopped its caress of Dorian's skin, either. And all of it conspires to make Dorian feel horrible; not guilty for himself, but disgusted with himself. Cullen's been nothing but patient with him, despite his sour attitude, for the last hour, or however long Dorian's snit has lasted. Cullen's own attitude has been even and fair, optimistic enough as if to compensate for the total absence of it from Dorian. It's a wonder that he hasn't lashed out at Dorian, even though he's had every reason and right to.

Dorian's first instinct had been to go scorched earth, to raze it all to the ground so he could spare his heart before it grew too late, so he could start anew, later. With someone else.

But Dorian doesn't _want_ anyone else, he realises. He wants _Cullen_ , even if he can only have him one more day. It'd be a day better spent together, than spent alone and wallowing. If he's to wallow, he decides, he'd rather save it for after Cullen's left and it's his only option.

 

Dijon is a welcome interlude when they finally reach Cullen's apartment. The dog barks and jumps, licking their hands and nudging into their legs back and forth between them like the ball in a pinball machine. Dorian leans down to pet Dijon's head, fondling one of his soft, pewter-coloured ears and admitting silently that, yes, he'll miss the dog too.

After they've been suitably greeted, Dijon trots away to his bed, leaving Cullen and Dorian in the foyer, standing and looking at each other a bit awkwardly.

"How much longer do you expect to be here?" Dorian asks, his voice quiet, tentative. It's the first either of them have spoken since they sat in the restaurant.

Dorian wonders whether Cullen's aware of that, too. His tone is quiet as well when he answers, and he sounds… not sad. But disappointed. At least there's that, Dorian thinks, because the bitterness hasn't melted away entirely.

"Another three weeks," Cullen says. "Maybe four. They wanted me there in less than two, but I said I needed more time."

Cullen looks at Dorian then, and an apology is written all over his face. Dorian wishes there weren't, because really, what does Cullen have to be sorry for? For living his life? For pursuing his career after it'd been so suddenly halted? For daring to look forward to a chance to put his talents to use again?

Is it love? Dorian doesn't know. The concept is too vague, too nebulous. People always say you'll know it when you've found it, but Dorian's always thought that sounded like overly-romantic pith. But whatever this relationship is, it's _something_ , and if circumstances demand it be finite, then so be it.

They stand there still, and Dorian figures maybe Cullen is trying to work out what his boundaries are; what Dorian wants to do right now, whether he even wants to be here. But he does, so long as Cullen will have him.

Dorian takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between him and Cullen. He stops when their toes touch, and he reaches for Cullen's hand, looping their fingers together the way they'd been on the walk over. "I'll miss you," he says, quiet, and directed at Cullen's feet.

"My shoes will miss you too." And Cullen chuckles, squeezing Dorian's hand. Of course he's laughed—for how calm and even stoic the man can be, he's exactly the sort to laugh at one of his own jokes.

Dorian laughs too, a small chuckle at first that morphs into something louder and heartier when he replays the joke over in his head. He's not so naïve to think it's not a release, though; it's a way to force the negativity from his core, to replace it with only the good things that Cullen gives to him. 

A small sigh escapes Dorian and he looks at Cullen, searching his face, for a few long moments. He feels faint prickles behind his eyes but that would be too much, he can't let things get to that point, so he blinks once and covers it all up with a warm, broad smile.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks Cullen, tilting his head just a little.

Cullen doesn't answer immediately. Instead his eyes hold Dorian's, before flicking down to look at his lips. And then he smiles, leaning in. "I wish you would." The words are whispered against Dorian's mouth.

Their arms wrap around each other, at the same time, like two halves slotting back together again as they're meant to, and their lips meet. The kiss is simple and sweet, and to Dorian it feels like nothing more than acknowledgement of where they both stand. Some unspoken thing that wouldn't be the same, with words. Then Cullen tilts his head, slipping his mouth more fully over Dorian's, urgent and needful, before he leads Dorian back to the bedroom to take him there.


	10. Chapter 10

Cullen's never known what it's like to be rich, for money not to be an object, and he likely never will—but this is close.

When he'd first received the financial prospectus for White Spire, he'd balked. Then he'd reread it, and balked again. But it's been confirmed for him that no, the food budget isn't a typo with at least two extra zeros.

It's two parts exciting and one part daunting, having that much money thrown behind his cooking. It's a lot; more than he'd ever had at Wunderbar, somehow. It's enough that he could, literally, do anything he wanted with White Spire's menus. Maybe break into that molecular gastronomy thing that's so popular in Spain, all of a sudden. It's not his style by any means, but it's nice to know that he could call in for a truckload of dry ice on a whim, if he wanted to.

Menu planning has always been fun, like a puzzle he has to put together, but this is like a puzzle with about a thousand too many pieces. It's hard to know where to start, and the guidance he's been given isn't much help either. _Clean, fresh, chic, modern_ —endless buzzwords that don't really _mean_ much to begin with and mean even _less_ when applied to food.

Which is why he's been bent over his laptop and pages ripped from his notepad, shuffled across his coffee table, for the last three hours, with very little to show for it. For all the money and free reign he has at his disposal, this is still someone else's vision that he's trying to satisfy, he realises.

He straightens, sitting upright and stretching out his back, and it feels like all of his bones are creaking. It makes him wince, though less for the discomfort and more for how _old_ it makes him feel. It's a lot of aches for a thirty year old to have…

Dorian probably doesn't have this issue, Cullen thinks then, and he's less than a year older than him.

 _Dorian_. The thought of him is a bit wistful, a bit bittersweet, now that Cullen knows what's in store for them. And then there's the way that Dorian had acted a week ago, when Cullen had told him about White Spire and his move.

Normally, Cullen wouldn't stick around for that sort of behaviour. He can understand where it comes from, of course, but he knows that had it come from just about anyone else, he'd have told them to shape up before seeing himself out the door.

His father's influence, there, he's sure.

But it wasn't just anyone else; it was Dorian. And Cullen had found that even as he was sitting there, practically seeing Dorian's mood morph into something nasty as though it had a tangible, physical manifestation, he couldn't bring himself to do that. He felt—still feels—like he owes Dorian more than that.

It had all worked out well in the end, once they'd both got back to focusing on themselves in the moment, rather than on what was to come. But now there's only two weeks left. Or so. Cullen hasn't booked a flight or paid out the lease yet; he hasn't been able to bring himself to do either. It's as if there's been some sort of block in his mind that's keeping him from getting that far, from making it concrete and final, even though commitments have been made and contracts have been signed.

He sighs and leans back into the couch cushions, running both hands through his hair. One lingers at the back of his neck, tips of his fingers digging into a knot there that's pinching and pulling his muscles.

How could he have turned this offer down? It's all come together too easily and too perfectly for him to walk away from it. There's a small, niggling thought blooming in the back of his mind that he could say the same of his relationship with Dorian, but he tamps it down right away. He's not walking away from that… it's just that the parameters of it are going to change. Nothing's going to end; they're just going to adapt.

Life is always so much simpler when seen through rose-coloured glasses.

His phone rings then, chiming from somewhere underneath the scattered paper. He fishes it out and is disappointed to see it isn't Dorian calling. Cullen's sent him a few texts that afternoon, all unanswered.

"Cassandra, your number's a surprise to see."

Cassandra scoffs on the other end of the line. "Random inspection."

"Isn't that my job?" Cullen answers, teasing. "Or was."

"Mm, but I was never part of your kitchen brigade, was I? But, on the topic of jobs…"

Cullen chuckles and leans back into the couch again, propping his feet up on the edge of the table. "You've heard, I take it?"

"Word travels fast in the industry, even when you've been out of it for months, apparently. But congratulations. Getting as far away from Wunderbar as possible, I like it."

"Rather I think it's my sister's influence—if she heard I turned down the chance to go back home, she'd fly over here personally to see me dead."

Cassandra laughs, in the way that Cullen's only heard a few times before—soft and short. "She sounds like a very reasonable woman."

"Now that you mention it, the two of you would get along _famously_ ," Cullen says, his tone sarcastic.

"Listen, Rutherford, I thought I might take you out for a drink before you're gone."

And that's a surprise. For as much and as well as Cullen had worked with Cassandra, being executive chef and sommelier, they'd never been what he'd consider friends. Certainly not the sort to call one another up out of the blue on a Saturday night.

"Well, I still have some of the bottles that you and I… _appropriated_ from Wunderbar, if you'd rather come here. It's hot outside."

"So do I. It's a wonder I've managed not to touch that one bottle of Gevrey Chambertin, but no, let's go out instead. It's always hot outside; it's summer. Not an excuse."

Cullen sighs, laughing on the exhale, and gets up from the couch. "I'm going to need a shower first."

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise through the phone. "Please do; this isn't like one of those crew get-togethers after your shift. Cabot's in an hour?"

"See you then," Cullen says, leaning down to close his laptop as he ends the call.

 

A drink with Cassandra turns into a bottle of wine and three cocktails with Cassandra, and it's late when Cullen winds up outside of Dorian's building. He's not sure how late exactly… all he knows is, it's dark and he'd like to see his boyfriend.

Cullen presses Dorian's buzzer, leaning heavily against the wall as he does. There's no answer right away, so he buzzes again.

"Well." Dorian's voice crackles through the intercom, close to Cullen's ear. "Look what the… incredibly strong cat dragged in."

Cullen smiles, slow and broad. Dorian must be able to see him on the security feed, and he turns his head up to look into the camera—except he can't quite remember where it is, right now, so all he sees is the cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.

"I'm not sure what you're making moon eyes at, down there, but I can tell you it isn't me. Would you like to come up?"

Cullen hums and nods. "Yes please," he says, dragging out the vowels.

Dorian chuckles, and it's drowned out by the buzz of the building door as it unlocks. Cullen shoves off the wall and lets himself inside.

Cullen finds Dorian in the midst of work. A lot of work, by the looks of it. There's a large corkboard that's been wheeled out of… somewhere, set up in the middle of the living room, with sketches tacked all over it. An oversized sketchpad and pencils sit on the chess table, in place of the pieces that had been set up from their last game a few nights ago. Dorian's standing in front of the corkboard, looking at something on the iPad in his hand. He's dressed only in his briefs and a loose tank top, and his hair's not done. It's soft and all flopped over to one side, instead of the way it's usually moussed into place, just so. And when he turns around to look at Cullen after he shuts the door, Cullen sees he's wearing glasses. Thick-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses. Glasses that Cullen has never seen him wear before but that he wishes he had, because. _Well_.

"Had a few drinks?" Dorian says, lowering the iPad by his side but not moving from where he stands.

Cullen nods, eyes pegged on Dorian as he less-than-gracefully kicks his shoes off. "Cassandra. From Wunderbar. Called and wanted to say goodbye."

Dorian's gotten much better at schooling his reactions to any references to Cullen's leaving, but he's still not perfect, and Cullen doesn't miss the slight wince he makes.

"I wanted to see you," Cullen continues, moving further into the apartment."I sent you some texts, earlier."

"Oh… you did? I've just been so caught up in this, I don't even know where my phone is right now, actually."

Cullen closes the distance, coming up behind Dorian. He runs his hands down Dorian's arms and sides, around to his front, hiking up the hem of his tank top and stopping just at the waistband of his underwear. "That's okay, I was working too," he says, his lips grazing the back of Dorian's neck. He presses a long kiss there after he speaks.

Dorian hums, and when Cullen tugs him closer, he leans into it. "Until some waved a bottle of wine under your nose. Also some gin? Smells like gin."

Cullen chuckles, his face buried into the top of Dorian's shoulder. "Little bit of gin."

He lets his hands dip beneath Dorian's waistband; his fingers graze the root of Dorian's softened cock, and Dorian's breath hitches. He lets his head tip back onto Cullen's shoulder and Cullen moves his hand lower. He's just about to give a light stroke, when Dorian shakes his head and tries to stand up straight again.

"The spring line, it's… I have to keep working on it, get it moving, and…"

Cullen draws his hands back, nearer to Dorian's hips, but keeps his lips pressed to his skin. "The spring line can wait a day. A night, even. It isn't even spring for like… seven months, Dorian." He opens his mouth and lightly grazes his teeth in a soft bite to Dorian's shoulder, pressing an open kiss to the spot afterwards. "Don’t be silly."

Dorian huffs, bemused, and he twists slightly to look at Cullen. "That's not how it wor—"

He's cut off, by Cullen gripping his hips and turning him around to kiss him on the mouth. His hands slip down to cup Dorian's ass, gripping at him and pulling him closer, his need at a fever pitch now.

And he half expects Dorian to pull back again, but instead, he tosses the iPad and his glasses onto the couch behind them, and wraps both arms tight around Cullen's neck. The kiss turns deep and heated immediately, edged with bitten-off moans and gasps. Cullen clutches Dorian tighter, grinding against him, and it feels so good, every one of his nerve endings set alight, that he thinks he might just come from the friction alone.

Dorian breaks away after Cullen's hips rock forward again. He brings a hand up to card through Cullen's hair and presses a kiss to his temple. "I wonder if you might be too drunk for this…"

Cullen makes a noise, something guttural and unbidden, turning his face to kiss Dorian wherever he can, and gets him on the cheek. "'M fine," he mumbles, the words barely audible past his lips. "Want you."

Dorian chuckles and ruffles Cullen's hair, before pulling away completely. He walks to the light in the corner of the room, behind the corkboard, and turns it off, leaving them with just the ambient light filtering in through the large living room windows. He retraces his steps, coming closer, and Cullen watches his every move with intent, tracking him. Dorian stops a few feet away and holds out his hand.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm afraid that the second I put a hand on you, you'll be spent," he says. He wiggles his fingers at Cullen, urging him to take his hand. When he does, Dorian winds their fingers together and leads Cullen down the hall and into the bedroom.

Cullen shakes his head, pulling Dorian into him and kissing him intently. He needs this. Needs Dorian. There's only so much time left and he doesn't want to say as much, as if vocalising it will push the clock forward and halve their time together, but he needs Dorian to know.

Dorian hums and melts into the kiss, cupping Cullen's face with both hands. His fingers slip around to the back of Cullen's head and curl into his hair, tightening enough to draw a small grown out of Cullen. After another moment, Dorian pulls back, using his grip to keep Cullen from leaning to kiss him again.

"Where there's a will, there's a way, hmm?" Dorian whispers, quickly kissing the tip of Cullen's nose before turning away.

He tugs his tank top over his head and Cullen watches the play of muscles and tattoos on his back and his shoulders as he does. He hums and comes up behind Dorian again, kissing and nipping at his neck.

"You're wasting precious time, you know. You've much more clothing to remove than me."

Cullen's lips pull into a slight frown against Dorian's skin. Dorian tastes good, smells good, and all Cullen wants is the warmth of his skin. But less clothing means more of what he wants, so he pulls back and undresses quickly.

Dorian's standing at the foot of the bed when Cullen straightens from fumbling out of his pants and boxers. His hands are at his hips, his stance wide and his dick hard, and if Cullen wasn't half-certain he'd trip, he'd be on his knees in front of Dorian in the next moment. Dorian's expression is smug, cocksure, as he takes Cullen in and meets his eye, and it makes Cullen twitch, heat blooming in his groin and his belly and across his face. Dorian tilts his head once in the direction of the bed and Cullen nods.

Yes, bed. Much better than the floor. Much.

"I want you on your back," Dorian says, as Cullen crawls onto the bed.

Cullen complies, wordless, turning over and lying back against the excessive amount of pillows Dorian has on his bed. Normally they remove all but four before sleep and it's the perfect amount, but now Cullen feels as if he's being swallowed up entirely.

Dorian comes around one side of the bed and leans down, plucking away pillows one by one. They end up on the floor any which way, which is very different from the neat stack they normally end up in on the chair in the corner of the room. Cullen opens his mouth, almost about to comment on it, but Dorian is watching him, intently, as he clears the pillows away and he swallows thickly instead.

Dorian leaves him with not a single pillow. Cullen tries to prop his head up on his arm but it's awkward. And then Dorian reaches up and takes his wrists, one at a time, and brings his hands up to the bedframe, slowly wrapping his fingers around the rungs.

"Hold on to these; don't let go. No matter how much you might want to touch me, or _yourself_ , don't let go. Yes?"

Cullen looks up at where his hands grip the bedframe. It's not a far enough distance to stretch his arms out, his elbows bent at ninety degrees so that his forearms are parallel to the mattress. But his muscles will tire still, he knows, especially for how soft and weak they feel from the alcohol in his system.

His lips screw into a grimace and he looks at Dorian, still hovering above him next to the bed. "Dorian, I don't—"

Dorian shushes him, waving the words away as he gets up onto the bed. He straddles Cullen's legs at the knee, resting his hands on Cullen's upper thighs. All Cullen can see is the ceiling of the bedroom, except for when he tries to lift his head and even then he can barely see Dorian through his lower periphery.

He feels Dorian's fingers splay over his thighs, then his hands drag slowly upwards, his thumbs grazing lightly across his inner thighs and the top of his groin, and Cullen's breath catches in his throat. He _wants_ Dorian to touch him, wants it so intently, but he knows Dorian's right—he won't last long by any stretch, not for his drunken state and not for how wound-up he is. Dorian's hands carry on, slipping over Cullen's hips to his lower stomach, up to his chest. They stop there, at his pectorals, and Dorian leans down. His hips haven't shifted upwards from Cullen's knees, so his torso is stretched out long and lean across Cullen's body, chest pressing his cock into his stomach. Dorian tilts his head forward and peppers his skin with small kisses, some with sharp, sudden nips of teeth that make him gasp lightly each time.

Then Dorian slides up, dragging his body against Cullen's, and Cullen groans at the friction up the underside of his oversensitive dick. Dorian takes his lips before he can speak, kissing him wantonly, aggressively, working his tongue into his mouth, and it makes him groan again, louder.

Dorian moves his lips to the corner of Cullen's mouth, kissing beside it and then moving along his jaw, leaving him panting softly. Dorian kisses the hollow below Cullen's ear and says, "the longer you can hold onto those rungs, the better I can make this for you. Does that sound good?" He punctuates it with a flick of his tongue and a gentle nibble at Cullen's earlobe.

"F-fuck…" Cullen curses as he exhales, his eyes slipping closed. This has never— He's never had someone do this to him, take control of him like this. Is it even control? Cullen could disobey and let go of the bedframe and grab for Dorian, take him and turn him over and fuck him instead, but Dorian's trusting him not to, trusting that he'll do what's asked of him and that's headier than anything else.

Dorian presses a kiss to the side of Cullen's neck. "Glad you agree," he murmurs, pulling away. He reaches for the bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside table and moves back to settle between Cullen's legs.

And then his hands are everywhere: on Cullen's stomach, his hips, his inner thighs, his ass—everywhere except the one place Cullen really wants them to be. He jerks his hips, shifting and rocking, either trying to ask for Dorian's touch to his cock or trying to get it errantly, he doesn't care which. Dorian shakes his head and leans down, bending at the waist to press wet, open kisses to the thin, sensitive skin at the joins of Cullen's thighs. He alternates side to side, with one further up, just below the centre of Cullen's hips, but he never comes any closer.

"I'm not touching you either. The idea of this is to last, remember?"

Cullen huffs in frustration and tries to lift his head to look down his body at Dorian, but he can't get enough of an angle. "I want to see you," he says, quietly, letting his head fall back onto the mattress.

"I'm right here." Dorian sweeps his palm across the top of Cullen's groin, then slides it down over his inner thigh. His hand grazes Cullen's balls, and it makes him moan, full-bodied and arched off the bed, trying to chase after that fleeting contact. "Right here," Dorian repeats, and Cullen hears the _click_ of the lube being opened.

His breath quickens at even that and it catches in his throat when he feels a slicked finger slip down the cleft of his ass to circle his hole. That breath stays there, trapped in his lungs, his body tense with anticipation, until Dorian's finger breeches him and Cullen exhales deeply, groaning and melting into the bed as everything in him relaxes.

"Perfect," Dorian rasps. It doesn't take long to work up to a second finger and then a third; he curls his fingers, stroking Cullen from the inside in long, slow passes. He kisses Cullen's skin wherever he can manage as he does, his knee and the inside of his thigh, and Cullen's entire body is thrumming with want and need.

He's about to tell Dorian he's ready, but Dorian withdraws his hand while he's still trying to find the words. Cullen hears him move, feels him shift on the bed, hears him open the condom. Background to it all is the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. Dorian braces a hand on Cullen's thigh, and then he's pressing in, slow and steady, but there's a power behind it too—like he's holding back, and Cullen wants to tell him not to, that he can take it, but all he can manage is a breathy moan. He wants desperately to touch himself, to fuck his fist in time with Dorian's thrusts, but he does what Dorian asked of him and instead tightens his grip on the rungs of the bedframe.

Dorian grips him at the hips and settles in as close as he can, then he leans forward, bracing both hands on the bed near Cullen's shoulders. His breath hits Cullen's chest in hot, damp puffs, and he gets the impulse to card a hand into Dorian's hair, remembering how soft it looked when he first saw him tonight. But Dorian pulls back and thrusts forward sharply, and all he can think about is how full he feels as Dorian bottoms out with a groan.

Dorian's pace is slow, almost agonisingly so—Cullen rocks his hips up as best he can, urging Dorian on, wordlessly asking for more.

Dorian huffs out a small laugh, smirking a little. "I know you can take more, don't worry…" He stills his hips for a moment, then rolls them, grinding down until they're flush, and Cullen gasps, groans.

The slowness is gone with that, and Dorian fucks Cullen with quick, strong thrusts, rocking him up the bed enough that he has to brace harder against the frame.

"Fuck, Dorian—" Cullen moans under his breath and closes his knees around Dorian's hips, hooking his ankles behind his back. It gives him the leverage he needs to rock into each thrust, and the angle Dorian needs to fuck him deeper. "Yeah, yes, like this," he says as he exhales.

Every snap of Dorian's hips is punctuated by a groan or a grunt, some loud sort of noise that cuts straight through Cullen to his core. He feels close to coming already, everything in him coiling tighter and tighter, but he doesn't want to—he wants Dorian to never stop. He screws his eyes shut and holds his breath, trying to concentrate on lasting as long as he can—

Until Dorian angles his next thrust downwards and the crown of his cock nudges against Cullen's prostate, and Cullen's breath leaves him in long, low groan at the sudden shock it sends through him. He's barely caught his breath before Dorian does it again, but this time he slows down to drag his head up and then down over Cullen's prostate before drawing back for his next thrust.

Cullen's mindless with it now, needful mewls escaping him, with his head tilted to the side so he can bury it in in his own arm. "Dorian, I'm—fuck, I’m so cl—"

Dorian moans and bends forward to crowd against Cullen's chest, wrapping an arm around his back and pressing his mouth to his skin. His lips are open, his breath panting. "Yeah, hnn—okay, okay," he says, his voice barely there. His hips piston and he makes high-pitched, desperate sounds as he tries to catch up to Cullen.

The faster pace, the relentless friction, the sounds from Dorian—and Cullen's finished. His orgasm erupts through him with a deep moan and Dorian's name on his lips. His arms feel like gelatine for how hard he's been gripping the bedframe but he keeps them where they are, too outside of himself to think to bring them down.

Dorian stills a minute later for half a breath, and then he thrusts long and slow a few more times. He comes with a raw groan through his nose and his mouth still pressed to the centre of Cullen's chest, his lips moving as he speaks half-formed inaudible words.

They stay where they are for a while, both panting to catch their breath. Dorian leaves small, wet kisses all over Cullen's chest before he draws back to pull out, and Cullen finally lowers his arms. They're stiff and they'll be sore tomorrow, and all he can do is let them fall at his sides. His eyes are closed and he hears Dorian cleaning himself up, and then he feels the rub of tissue across his stomach. He cracks open one eye and looks at Dorian, hovering over him as he wipes him down, and they share smile and a chuckle.

"Thought I might see to this for you," Dorian says, tapping Cullen's bicep with his free hand.

Cullen hums and smiles again. "Such foresight."

"But I wasn't wrong, was I?"

Cullen listens as Dorian crosses the room to the wastebin, then to the other side of the bed. "No, certainly not. Very clever of you," he drawls, sleep settling in. he feels Dorian climb onto the bed and he moves his arm to accommodate him as he slips in to rest his head on Cullen's chest.

Dorian laughs once under his breath and puts his hand on Cullen's stomach, rubbing it in slow, small strokes up and down. "I am, that, aren't I?"

It's the last thing either of them say before sleep takes them both.

 

They go for breakfast in the morning, to one of their usual favourites a short distance from Dorian's apartment. They walk hand-in-hand, pausing for kisses and as daring of gropes and touches as they can get away with at street corners. When they come back to Dorian's block, Cullen pulls Dorian across the street and over to look in the window of the French restaurant they'd shared their first meal at.

"What are you doing, you adorable oaf?" Dorian asks as Cullen leans forward to peer through the glass into the darkened space. "It not open, so no plates of food set out on unsuspecting diners' tables for you to leer at, hmm?"

Cullen chuckles, his breath fogging the glass. "Just wanted to take a look," he says before pulling away to follow after Dorian down the street.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing major to note here but i just wanted to say a massive huge thank you to everyone that messaged me or replied to one of my sob-sob posts on tumblr after i went and deleted the original story. i was so bummed out after it happened but you guys helped a lot! and special hugs and keeses to tara & stella for bringing it in the comments already ♥

Cullen likes to think he has a decently high threshold for pain. He's burnt himself in the kitchen, more times than he can remember—he's got the random spattering of scars on his hands and arms, and even one on his chest, to prove it. And there was the time he broke his ankle as a kid, falling from the monkey bars in the schoolyard. He'd cried then, but it was more for the embarrassment of it happening in front of his entire class, than the pain. But this… this is something else entirely, and the needle's only been on his skin for fifteen minutes. It'd be unbearable if not for the fact that Dorian's inches away, holding his hand, and when Cullen squeezes it at a fresh burst of pain, Dorian squeezes back twice.

"He's so brave, isn't he Mae?" Dorian says with a grin, his tone teasing.

Mae doesn't answer right away, and Cullen can feel the pressure of the needle shift around a curve in the design she's inking into his skin. She huffs when she lifts the needle to wipe away excess ink, tossing her head to move a lock of her blond curls before looking up at them both with a smirk. "Oh, a real trooper, definitely."

Cullen groans under his breath; he should've known that going to Dorian's regular artist would lead to some gentle ribbing.

But, Mae does good work and has done almost all of Dorian's pieces. She'd laughed—not chuckled or tittered, but _laughed_ —at Cullen's design, but she swore that she meant it in the best way possible. Cullen's still not sure what that means, exactly, but he trusts her all the same. And he can't exactly blame her, in honesty—it's a silly thing, this tattoo. A vintage-styled carrot on his inner right forearm, big enough to take up most of the space between his wrist and his elbow. And this would be odd on its own, perhaps, but the meat cuts chart imposed over it is even stranger.

But it's the meaning of it that counts, isn't it? For Cullen, it signifies his approach to cooking. At least one or two chefs in every kitchen he's ever worked has had a pig or a cow with the same chart stitched over it. Even more recently when he searched for "chef tattoo" on the internet, looking for inspiration, that was the most popular result next to some ubiquitous, undefined sort of chopping knife. But this… to him, it's about a unique approach to old classics; taking something standard and ordinary, like a carrot, and turning it into something not seen before.

"Think of it this way," Dorian says, leaning in closer and stroking the back of Cullen's hand with his thumb. "This will be one of the last things we'll get to do together while you're still here, and now you'll always be able to remember me—and this touching, intimate moment—by the ink on your arm."

And this is the opening Cullen's been waiting for. "You're talking as though we'll never see each other again," he says, putting on an exaggerated frown.

The way Dorian's face falls, however, is entirely genuine. "I know, I know… call me a fatalist. But it helps me to think this way, so that I don't ever get disappointed when it becomes true."

Perhaps saving this news wasn't the best idea, if telling Dorian earlier might've saved Cullen from having to see that expression on his face again. But he knows Dorian will appreciate the drama of it all, down the road.

He lets the quiet pause between them stretch on, filled with only the drone of the needle buzzing against his skin. Dorian sighs a little and squeezes his hand again, unprovoked.

"What if I told you that plans had changed…?" Cullen says finally.

Dorian narrows his eyes at Cullen, his lips pursed together. "Changed how?"

"Well, it turns out I'm needed more, here."

Cullen can tell Dorian's beginning to get exasperated; he sighs again and lets go of Cullen, both of his hands coming to rest at his hips. "What are you on about?" he asks, his tone a little terse. "Please don't tell me that you think me so weak that I won't be able to function without you here."

"No, no, I don't mean you. I mean the restaurant. That I've bought."

"That you've…?" Dorian's voice trails off as his eyebrows knit tightly together.

"Yes. That I've bought. You know it actually, it's in your neighbourhood and we've even been already a few times."

Cullen can see the wheels turning in Dorian's head, his expression entirely confused, until the realisation hits him and instead he just looks shocked. "The French place? Across the street from the apartment? Whatever its bloody name is?" The pitch of his voice picks up with each subsequent question, and Cullen has to concentrate on not laughing at it.

"Valmont Bistro, yes. That one."

Dorian's mouth is agape, his eyebrows still pinched. "I… I am so confused. You bought it? I didn't even know it was for sale!"

"Neither had I, but Cass—" Cullen pauses to wince through a particularly sharp twinge of pain. "Cassandra told me, that night when I saw her. The sommelier there is an old colleague of hers, apparently, and had been talking to her about how the owner had quietly listed the business and that it was only a matter of time, so on and so forth—and she thought of me."

"You knew as far back as that?" Dorian exclaims, lightly smacking Cullen's free shoulder. It was only just a week ago, but to hear him now, one might've guessed it'd been a month. "How could you not say something immediately?"

Cullen smiles warmly at Dorian, hoping to pacify him a little. "I didn't want to say anything until it was all finalised. I thought that might be worse, should a wrench get thrown in there somehow."

Dorian frowns again, but it's smaller now. "I suppose that's fair… But it is now? Finalised?"

Cullen nods. "Signed the agreements yesterday," he says, smiling again. "The folks at White Spire were none too pleased, but thankfully I won't need their good graces across the Atlantic anytime soon."

"But…" Dorian lets out a small huff. "But this was the opportunity you'd been waiting for, with the budget and the control, and your _family_ , and—"

"Yes, I'll have less of a budget now, of course, but it'll be worth it to know that it's _my_ name behind everything. And my family can travel… maybe not immediately, but eventually I'll be able to help them with airfare, and… honestly, Dorian, that's all secondary to this. To us."

Dorian shakes his head, covering his face with his hands, and he laughs—twice, high-pitched, like the sort of laugh one does when relieved. He's beaming when he lowers his hands. "How _dare_ you tell me this while you're being _tattooed_ of all things, so I can't pounce on you right here!"

Mae clears her throat gently, lifting the needle to wipe Cullen's skin again. "You can pounce on his leg or something if you want, I'll wait…"

Cullen and Dorian both laugh at that, and for his part, Cullen feels lighter than air. Dorian leans down to kiss him; it's soft and short but it speaks volumes.

"That's okay," Dorian says, his lips still grazing Cullen's. "I'm going to make him wait a bit; he likes that."

Cullen's cheeks flush immediately and he clears his throat sharply. Mae presses the needle back to his skin, and maybe it's meant to save him from the moment, but it _bites_. He gasps and covers his eyes with his free elbow. "Fuck this hurts— Are we almost done?"

 

Before walking into the appointment, Dorian had warned Cullen that he'd likely be tired when it was over, with all the pain and the adrenaline the body releases to compensate. Cullen had waved the suggestion away, said if he could run a kitchen for sixteen hours straight on four hours of sleep then he could handle this, and suggested they go for lunch afterwards.

But Cullen knows when he's beat and Dorian has the decency to not tease him when he suggests a nap instead of lunch. They go back to Cullen's apartment and head straight for the bed.

"Are you sure you're tired?" Cullen asks, as Dorian climbs in next to him.

Dorian shrugs and turns over. He lays his pillow on top of Cullen's outstretched arm, careful to avoid the bandaged patch lower down, and settles back against Cullen's chest. "Not especially, but I like napping with you. And someone ought to be here to keep an eye on you, in case you take a turn for the worse," he says, bemused.

Cullen scoffs, trying to sound just as _un_ amused, but he can't help the smile that spreads over his lips. He pulls Dorian closer and buries his face into the crook of his neck, drifting off to sleep in the next minute.

When Cullen wakes later, he's not sure how long he's slept for. Dorian's still in his arms, but now he's rolled over and has his head tucked under his chin. Cullen clears his throat softly and blinks the last remnants of grogginess from his eyes, then tilts his head down to kiss the top of Dorian's head.

"And so he rises…" Dorian whispers. He kisses the hollow of Cullen's throat, then lifts his head to kiss the tip of his chin.

Cullen smiles down at him and brings his free hand up to cup the side of Dorian's face, leaning in to kiss his mouth. Dorian hums into it, shifting up in Cullen's arms for a better angle. The kiss is slow and steady, but consuming, and as it gets deeper, they get more lost in it. Dorian moves one hand to card into Cullen's hair, fingers gripping lightly into the curls towards the back—not to pull, just to hold. Cullen lifts his top leg and hooks it over Dorian's, and he slips his other arm out from under the pillow and curls it up, the bandage covering his tattoo resting just behind Dorian's head. He can feel Dorian's moustache across his upper lip and it makes him smile a little, not for how it tickles, but for how he realises that he'll no longer need to give up even something so simple now.

"You should help," Cullen says suddenly as an idea hits him, pulling back only far enough to speak. "With the design of it." He punctuates himself with a quick kiss at the side of Dorian's mouth.

Dorian pulls back even further, looking at Cullen with a cocked eyebrow. "What?"

Cullen chuckles and he peppers Dorian's cheeks with light kisses before answering. "Of the new place. Colours, treatments, y'know… all that aesthetic stuff."

"But it's _your_ new place—surely you must know what you want it to look like?"

Cullen shakes his head with Dorian's fingers still tangled in his hair. "Not in the least. I don't know anything about anything, outside of the confines of the kitchen. I've a laundry list of ideas for that part of it, but beyond that? I know that I want classic, yet still modern. But also approachable... And comfortable... But I've no idea how to get it actually _be_ any of that." He shrugs and tightens his arms around Dorian, leaning forward to rest his chin on his shoulder. "Besides, I want you to be involved in it, somehow, and this seems like the most logical way."

Dorian sighs, which isn't necessarily what Cullen was expecting. He almost pulls back to look at his expression, to see whether he's overstepped a boundary of some sort, but then Dorian turns his face inward and presses a long, warm kiss to the side of Cullen's neck.

"You overly-sentimental bastard," Dorian says. "Or is this just your way of getting interior design on the cheap?"

Cullen laughs and digs the tip of his chin into Dorian's shoulder just a little. Then he tilts his head down to kiss the top of his shoulder. "I'll pay you in other ways," he drawls against Dorian's skin, before biting into it, just hard enough to be felt but not to leave a mark.

Dorian hums, tightening his hands in Cullen's hair to pull his head up again. "My rate doubles, in that case," he says, his voice low and rough, before he leans in to take Cullen's mouth again.

They kiss for another few minutes, and this time the heat escalates, leaving them a bit breathless and a bit worked up—

And neither of them hear the soft click of nails on the hardwood as Dijon comes into the bedroom. He circles the bed and jumps up onto it behind Dorian, who yelps into Cullen's mouth at the sudden interruption. Dijon snuffles his wet nose around the bandage on Cullen's forearm, as if to check and make sure he's sustained no serious damage. Satisfied, he flops down and settles in tightly against Dorian's back, his head resting on the abandoned pillow.

Dorian twists to look over his shoulder at their new bedmate, and he sighs again.

Cullen chuckles and reaches his free hand around Dorian to pat Dijon on his side, scratching his nails into the dog's short, coarse fur. "Looks like you're stuck now, with both of us."

"Oh, Maker be praised…" Dorian says, feigning annoyance, but he's grinning when he turns back to Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you need something of a visual for cullen's tattoo, have a look at [this](http://fondalashay.com/blog/images/post/tattoo-lust-leftovers-part-iv_5.jpg) and just imagine the carrot larger. i _know_ it's a silly idea but after i went and justified it with a ~Proper Meaning~ for cullen's character in this, i just couldn't let it go :x


	12. Chapter 12

To stand in the yet-unfinished interior of the new restaurant, Dorian would never have recognised it for one that he actually knew rather well in its prior form.

He and Cullen are doing a walkthrough now, to see what still needs to be done. A soft opening is scheduled for two weeks from this coming Thursday, with the true opening night to take place two nights later on the Saturday afterwards. It's not a lot of time, all things considered, and Cullen's wearing the stress of it all on his face and in his shoulders.

The name has been changed, from Valmont Bistro to Honnleath, in a nod to Cullen's origins—or at least it has on paper. The signage is overdue by a few days, but assurances have been made it will be installed by early next week. The changes made to the space inside are subtle, but effective. It's enough to distance the restaurant from what it used to be, but Cullen had been adamant about keeping much of the original design and structure, more so for the cost-savings than for any sentimentality—or so he's said. Dorian, however, suspects it's not so entirely about expenses, and the thought makes him smile to himself.

 The floors have been kept, with the gorgeous black-and-white stone tiling, but they've been given a tough scrubbing so that the black is jet and the white is gleaming again. The tops of the old tables, in the worn dark wood, were repurposed and given new wrought iron bases. The chairs needed to be bought new, and it's just as well as far as Dorian's concerned—it was too much _dark_ , with all the wood, and the crisp white framework chairs that have been brought in instead are a better fit. That had been his input, and Cullen hadn't been entirely sure how the modern style of the chairs would work against the rustic feel of the tables, but after seeing them in place, he agreed. The dark walls have been painted a soft white too, save for the muted red brick behind the bar that they'd discovered entirely by accident. A thin wall had been built over the brick, to cover it for some reason that Dorian can't understand for how well the masonry's held up over time, which an overzealous contractor had punched a hole through. A lucky accident, that, but not one that hadn't sent Cullen straight through the roof all the same, after he'd seen the damage. Luckily the tin ceiling was spared and is still in perfect condition after thorough cleaning—which Cullen had insisted he could and would do himself but that lasted about all of half an hour, with Dorian observing knowingly from a corner, before Cullen got a mouthful and an eyeful of dust and contracted the job out. And with new brushed gold detailing around the dark wood bar, the décor seems to be complete.

As far as Dorian can tell, that is. Cullen's opinion is the one that counts, however. "Well?" Dorian asks, following behind Cullen as they circle back towards the front of the dining area. Dijon is sticking close; Dorian's felt his panting against the back of his leg during the entire tour. The dog sits by his side when they stop walking, and Dorian reaches to scratch his head. "Are you satisfied? Or is there something else you think it needs?"

Cullen sighs and surveys the room again, hands at his hips and fingers gripped into the fabric of his t-shirt. The process to get Honnleath open has been long and consuming, maybe more than Cullen had anticipated now that he's responsible for more than just the kitchen-related aspects. He looks tired, though Dorian would never say so aloud. He's always had bags under his eyes, as long as Dorian's known him, but now they're deeper, darker. His hair is dishevelled too, misshapen curls laying every which way, but it doesn't look unkempt, somehow. Or perhaps that's just _his_ perspective, Dorian thinks, because it happens to remind him of Cullen after bouts of certain activities.

Cullen glances back towards the kitchen and frowns, a low, frustrated grumble in his throat. Dorian already knows what he's concerned about without needing to follow his gaze—it'll be the cooktop. More specifically, the gas line to the cooktop. It hasn't fired more than twice out of the thirty or forty times it's been tested over the last few days. It's being serviced, _again_ , at the moment, and it's clear that it's killing Cullen not to be in there, up close and personal with the whole procedure. As if stressed by Cullen's stress, Dijon lets out a quiet whine and Dorian moves to stroke one of his ears to calm him.

He wonders idly whether it'd work on Cullen if he did the same thing to _his_ ear.

Cullen walks forward to the bar and turns, leaning back against the gold railing. Dorian moves to follow and slots in beside him, wrapping an arm around his back. He slips his fingers up under the hem of Cullen's t-shirt just enough to touch his warm skin, and Cullen wraps his arm around Dorian's shoulders. Dijon looks at them for a moment, considering, and then trots off towards Cullen's office at the back of the restaurant.

"It looks good, from this angle," Cullen says eventually. He sounds assured.

Dorian looks up at him and smiles. "It looks good from every angle, Cullen."

Cullen turns to look at Dorian too, and he scoffs but there's a laugh in it too. "Well, you _would_ say that, wouldn't you? Never ask the designer what he thinks of the design…"

Dorian huffs and tickles his fingers lightly over Cullen's side, making him chuckle and squirm.

"I suppose all that's left is one last big, thorough cleaning and getting the menu finalised," Cullen continues. "and for the cooktop to actually work, or else we might as well open an all-you-can-eat salad bar for the first few services," he says flatly.

Dorian hushes him, moving in closer and pressing a kiss to Cullen's shoulder. "Don't stress over that just yet. There's still time for it all to come together."

Cullen's mouth screws up into a grimace, but he nods. "Anyway, tell me how the soft opening's going?" He starts running his fingertips in slow, lazy circles over the top of Dorian's arm.

"Oh, Felix is all over it," Dorian says with a chuckle. "Any excuse to avoid his actual work. We've taken care of invites, made sure to have room for all of your friends, and we've invited a few people from our industry too—whoever we thought might lead to the most future business for you."

Cullen lifts his eyebrows and nods. "Well, that's impressive. But really, you ought to have just let me hire a PR person for this bit. They'd take care of all that nitty gritty, especially since you've got enough work of your own to do."

Dorian shrugs under Cullen's arm. "This isn't work, really; not when it's helping out someone I love."

Cullen's body tenses slightly against Dorian, and his fingers stop moving. He clears his throat before speaking, and his eyes are fixed straight ahead. "Did… did you just say that you love me?"

And now Dorian freezes, panic settling into his chest fast, like a fight-or-flight reaction. He stares hard at the wall across from them, his mind immediately trying to recall what he'd just said, to play it back word for word. "Uhm… kind of?" he says, a little bewildered himself. "Technically I guess I did."

"Well? Do you?"

Dorian quickly turns to look at Cullen again, and he's already watching him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Of course I do!" Dorian says. "Isn't that _obvious_ by now?"

He's playing incredulous, but really, he's a bit sceptical himself. Not for Cullen or their relationship or anything else, but for _him_ , for his own past hang ups. But… clearly he must; saying it a moment ago had felt so natural that he hadn't even realised he was saying it, and probably wouldn't have, had Cullen not called attention to it.

Cullen shrugs, and now the smile breaks across his lips entirely, broad and warm. "Just making sure," he sing-songs, squeezing Dorian's shoulder.

Dorian's taken by how grossly _adorable_ the whole display is and he laughs, moving away to shove Cullen a little. Cullen grabs for his wrist and pulls him back into a close hug, both arms wrapped around Dorian's shoulders.

"Well?" Dorian asks, resting his head against Cullen's chest. "What about you?"

Cullen huffs and Dorian can hear it reverberate through him. "Dorian, I bought the restaurant where we had our first date, so that I wouldn't need to move away from you? Isn't it _obvious_ by now?" he says, his tone mimicking Dorian's earlier. He's wearing a cheeky grin when Dorian lifts his head up to look at him.

They could continue to banter, Dorian figures, or…

He raises up on his toes and swallows up that grin on Cullen's lips with a long kiss. Cullen's arms tighten around him and he hums low and gravelly against Dorian's mouth—and Dorian pulls back before he can deepen the kiss.

He clears his throat demurely, and fixes Cullen with a pointed look. "This is a classy establishment, sir, and your uncouth attitude has no place in it, thank you very much."

Cullen smiles and darts in for a quick kiss to Dorian's cheek, and then they break apart from the hug. "I ought to get back to work, here…"

Dorian nods. "I have something of my own that I need to get to, too," he says, biting back the grin that twinges at the thought of his plan.

"Well," Cullen says with finality, "that sounds not at all suspect but alright, I'll let you to it, then." He pushes off the bar and takes a few steps towards the kitchen. "I'll ring you when I'm finishing up here," he says, looking back at Dorian over his shoulder.

"You know where I'll be," Dorian says with a smile, before heading out into the street.

 

Back at home, Dorian settles onto the couch with a pen and notepad, and pulls out his phone. He navigates to his text message thread with Cullen and starts scrolling up, looking for one specific message. It had only been sent a few weeks back, but with the number of messages they tended to send through a day…

He finds it a minute later, and reaches for the notepad to scribble down the phone number the message contains: Mia's.

Cullen had given it to him, back when he was still moving back to London, so that Dorian could get in touch with him if he needed. He's sure that Cullen's forgotten all about that now with the change of plans, but it'd been sitting in the back of Dorian's mind, and he's going to use it to his advantage now.

He glances at the time quickly; it's just after two p.m., which will make it seven in London, and Dorian dials the number, hoping his timing isn't completely terrible.

The line rings a few times, and Dorian can't help but be struck at the recollection of what the ring tone sounds like, over there. He hasn't heard it since he last called home, and that was… a long, long time ago. But that isn't the right train of thought to head out on now, and he's relieved when the line picks up.

"Hello?" says a quiet, female voice.

"Oh, hello," Dorian answers, as cheerful as he can manage. "I was hoping to speak with Mia, if she might be around?"

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line before the woman speaks again. "This is she."

"Mia, it's Dorian Pav—"

"Oh my _gosh_ , are you serious?" Mia sounds equally shocked and excited, and it throws Dorian off entirely. "My terrible brother was just telling me about you a couple weeks ago, and here you are ringing me up out of the blue."

Dorian chuckles and scratches the back of his neck with his spare hand as he thinks of what to say; a tic he's picked up from Cullen, no doubt. "Well, he's saved me the trouble of introducing myself, then."

"I gave him such hell for waiting so long before telling me about you, Dorian, honestly. He's the worst at staying in contact. Though maybe I've you to blame for it, this time—sounds like you've been keeping each other well occupied."

Maker take him, but Dorian _blushes_ at that, even though it's over the phone and he's entirely alone. Cullen had made no mention of talking with his sister, so this is the first Dorian's hearing of it, and he has to wonder exactly how much Cullen told her. And, it hasn't been "so long" that they've been dating, either—a few months, really—but then Dorian's frame of reference for keeping family up to date on one's affairs is rather small…

He clears his throat, clears the nerves away and covers them up with his most charming self. "Well, I _am_ rather distracting, I have to say. It can't be helped."

Mia chuckles through the phone, but she's drowned out by a shrieking, giggling child. "Sorry, Dorian, one sec," she says quickly, and then covers the receiver of the phone somehow. He can hear her, voice muffled, talking to what must be another adult for the tone of voice she uses. She comes back a few moments later, and the child can still be heard, though they grow more and more faint. "Sorry for that, it's just gotten to bath time around here which may as well be a trip to the circus."

Cullen hadn't ever mentioned anything about being an uncle.

"Oh, I was afraid my timing might be off, let me call you back tomorrow."

"Nonsense! I'd much rather speak with you than deal with Lily at bath time—the husband can take care of all that. Now, Cullen had said he was coming back to London a few weeks ago, to come work at some swank place out in Belgravia I believe. And then he calls me back a week later—which, Dorian, let me tell you, two phone calls from Cullen in as many weeks is absolutely _unheard_ of, so I knew that something had to have happened."

Dorian starts to do the math in his head as Mia speaks. He realises that Cullen had to have told her the London plan was off right after hearing about the Valmont Bistro from Cassandra, well before his deal to buy it was even finalised… and a smile blooms across his face so broad that he feels it in his cheeks.

"And then he says he bought a bloody restaurant outright, so he's staying put. It's honestly so unlike him," Mia continues, and Dorian panics briefly, afraid she might be angry at the way things have shaken out, until she laughs a little. "So whatever influence you've had on him, thank you."

"Well," Dorian says, chuckling. "I can't say I'm due all the credit, but I am rather pleased with the outcome."

Mia hums. "Yes, it's all good news. We'll miss him here, but this is good for him."

"Actually, Mia, that's why I called you. Cullen has no idea, either, so no running off to text him or anything."

"Oh, well, now you've got me intrigued…"

"It would mean the world to Cullen for you, and Branson and Rosalie, to be able to be here for the opening in a couple of weeks. He's talked about it, how it feels odds to be doing this on his own—so to speak."

"Well, we'd love to!" Mia says. "If the fool had suggested the idea earlier, we'd have all booked flights immediately."

"And I think he knew that, so he didn't suggest it. The idea of the three of you spending that money just for him would gall him, even if you bent over backwards to offer to do it."

Mia sighs, rueful. "I know, he'd never accept it. But we'll make it work; I can't let him bleed himself even drier than he likely already is after buying Honnleath."

"I know," Dorian says. "So… let it be my money being spent."

"Excuse me? Are you offering to…?"

"Mmhm. You lot can't not be here for our favourite mophead, so allow me to make it happen."

Mia's line is quiet for a few moments—even the child-related noises have died down completely. Then Mia laughs, sharp and surprised, and it's exactly one that Dorian's heard out of Cullen before. "Dorian, this is certainly the oddest phone conversation I've had in quite a while, and it's a far cry from the telemarketer I was expecting to talk to when I picked up the line. But, I would love to accept your offer."

Dorian smiles, and his heart feels like it's swelling one hundred times a second. "And Branson and Rosalie? You think they'll be interested?"

"Oh, absolutely. The timing is good, actually. Bran's between jobs now, not starting his new one for a month or so, and Rosie's first semester at uni is still a few weeks off too."

"Good, good. And your husband and Lily, they're of course welcome too."

"Well, Geoff won't be able to take time away from work, but Lily would love to come. She babbles on about her uncle _Cullwen_ often."

 _Cullwen_. Dorian files that away for potential teasing later, once the surprise is over. "Perfect. I'll set you all up at a hotel too, or perhaps we'll find a way to get you into Cullen's place—he'll be spending the first few days at mine, I expect, as I'm just across the street from Honnleath."

"Whichever works out easiest, Dorian, and don't over-extend yourself on our part."

"Not at all, it's no trouble either way. Just take tomorrow to sort out which flights work best for you all and let me know, and I'll make all the arrangements."

Mia exhales deeply, laughing a little as she does. "Dorian, this is such a gift, really. Cullen will be beside himself."

Dorian smiles. "I owe him a rather large one, the way I see it, so it's the least I can do."

Lily's shrieks resume then, zooming past Mia's end of the phone, and Geoff's voice follows, calling after her and talking about bedtime. "Right, that's my cue," Mia says. "But thank you again, Dorian. I'm so looking forward to meeting you."

"And I you, Mia. See you soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to be posting the last two chapters at the same time, so the next update will likely be a few days late ;3;


	13. Chapter 13

The day of Honnleath's soft opening, Cullen wakes up before the sun. The light is faded and dim in Dorian's bedroom, and he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling with one arm tucked behind his head. Dorian's still asleep, curled up close enough to his side that he can feel his exhaled breaths on his skin, soft and warm and even.

He makes noises in his sleep, Dorian does; he'd deny that he does until he was blue in the face, but Cullen's heard them every night they've shared a bed together. Quiet sighs, contented whimpers, little sniffles, and sometimes soft chuckles too depending on what he's dreaming of, maybe. Cullen loves that he does and finds it comforting, somehow.

After lying in bed for fifteen minutes or so, Cullen gets up. He paces around Dorian's apartment for a while, circling between the front door, the living room window, and the kitchen, until he wonders if maybe his footsteps make too much noise. He goes over to one of the bookcases next to the couch and looks at the titles printed on the spines of the books. There's a lot of historical non-fiction—books on medieval African empires, Mesopotamia, ancient Egypt, the Incans, feudal Japan. Dorian doesn't talk about this side of himself much, with the lack of crossover between it and his job most likely, but Cullen likes that he indulges the interest still. He picks a book at random and moves to the couch, settling in.

He cracks the book somewhere in the middle, lays it across his lap and reads, hunched over with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It's high-level stuff, verbose and complicated, and normally he might find it engrossing, but as it is, he's not retaining a word of it. He reads the same page three times and the familiarity of it barely even registers, for how little attention he's paying to it.

His mind wanders back to Dorian, still asleep. If his anxiety is going to keep him awake this early, Cullen would rather it be in bed next to him, rather than out here on his own. He closes the book and slips it back into the bookcase, and heads to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, runs his hands through his hair—whatever he can to make himself feel a little more normal. Dorian's still asleep when Cullen goes back into the bedroom, only now he's on his back, limbs sprawled out. Cullen has to slot himself in carefully as he gets into the bed in order not to disturb him, and really it's not at all comfortable, but the proximity makes up for it.

Dorian stirs shortly after, waking with a huff and a low hum. He turns his head and peeks at Cullen through a barely-open eye, and a smile creeps slowly across his lips. He turns over and cuddles up against Cullen's side, draping an arm across his stomach. Cullen lowers an arm around Dorian's shoulders, but he's still taken by anxiety and he can't bring himself to do anything more than that. It's been a long time since he's had reason to be this anxious, certainly not while he's been with Dorian, but this is how it affects him; his thoughts are scattered, like his brain can't pick one to focus on for longer than half a second, and it leaves him unable to do much more than sit and stare at some fixed point.

Dorian shifts beside him, moving closer, and he presses light kisses to Cullen's chest. His hand drifts down Cullen's stomach, over his hip, and his fingers dip just past the waistband of his boxers. When Cullen doesn't react, he glances up at him and asks, "what's the matter?" with lips still against his skin.

Cullen looks down at Dorian and sighs, squeezing his arm gently. "Sorry. Anxious."

Dorian hums and nods. He lifts up onto his elbow, his face now parallel to Cullen's. "It is a big day," he says quietly. He moves his free hand back up to Cullen's stomach and rubs it over his skin in soft, slow, wide circles.

Cullen sighs again but he feels more content, now. Dorian's hand on his stomach frankly makes him feel like a big cat or something, but it's calming, comforting. His eyes slip closed for the first time since he woke up an hour ago.

"Everything will be fine," Dorian says. He whispers it like he's trying to soothe Cullen to sleep. "Aside from the few contacts of mine, everyone there is a friend, and all of them only want you to be successful, just remember that."

Cullen nods, stroking Dorian's arm. "I know."

"And you don't need to do absolutely everything yourself, either. You've a good staff, especially front of house, so don't be afraid to rely on them."

And he's right, Cullen knows. He'd gotten rather lucky with the hostess he's hired: an industry veteran who could've had her pick of just about any restaurant but ended up at Honnleath. Some of the wait staff is a little greener than he'd have preferred, but they're all eager to open and excited about the menu, which he knows is really the key to good service. None of it stops him from feeling as though he needs to divide his time between the kitchen and the dining room, however.

Dorian puts his lips on him again, but now they're several inches below where they were before and moving lower. Cullen cracks one eye open and looks down at Dorian, whose eyes are closed.

"Here I thought you were planning to lull me back to sleep."

Dorian's tongue swirls against Cullen's stomach, followed by a soft suck from his lips, and he shakes his head. "I'm not sure it's sleep you need."

Cullen huffs and it sounds sceptical, but his hips shift and his legs spread open a little, his dick stirring in his boxers. "It's going to be a late night, though."

Dorian moves to kneel in the space between Cullen's thighs, his mouth staying where it is. He rubs his cheek against Cullen's skin, and then nuzzles the tip of his nose through the soft, blond hair below Cullen's navel. "I'll stop if you want me to," he says, his breath hot and damp and close, "but you can always sleep in tomorrow…"

Cullen chuckles. "Tomorrow morning is a long ways away," he says, bringing a hand up to card through Dorian's hair on the top of his head. The first few weeks they were together, that would've been off-limits, but Dorian stopped ducking away from it before long. Now he does it as often as he can, for how soft it is. Dorian nips quickly, twice, at the thin skin above Cullen's groin, and Cullen's breath hitches.

Dorian smooths a hand slowly up Cullen's thigh and wraps it around the base of his cock. He rubs the inner knuckle of his thumb along the vein on the underside of it and Cullen gasps; and then he groans, when Dorian takes his head into his mouth. He laves his tongue around the crown, through the slit at the tip—and then he glances up at Cullen before sinking down to take all of him into his mouth. Cullen meets his eyes and lets out a soft curse, fingers tightening in Dorian's hair.

Dorian sucks him off with intent, the friction and sensation constant and just shy of _too much_. He braces both hands on Cullen's thighs, holding them as far apart as he can, and works his cock with just his mouth and his tongue and the bob of his head, and all Cullen can do is toss his head back, screw his eyes shut, and chant Dorian's name with what little voice he can muster. He comes at the back of Dorian's throat and he can feel it as Dorian swallows, again and again, making sure he's fully sated.

"What do you… want me… to…?" Cullen says between pants, trying to catch his breath, his hands grasping for as much of Dorian as they can.

Dorian chuckles and slides up along Cullen's side to kiss his cheek. "Nothing right now, love. You can repay me after dinner."

 

The soft opening is due to begin in an hour and half, at six o'clock. Cullen's been in the kitchen at Honnleath since ten, overseeing food prep and making sure everything runs smoothly. The cooktop only became fully functional the day before, so Cullen wants to keep a close eye on it, to give themselves as much leeway possible should it get temperamental again.

Dorian had come to the restaurant with him and had stayed for a short while. Cullen's still not sure exactly what his reason was for coming—if it was anything beyond simply being around, that is. He'd flitted around from space to space, kitchen to bar to office to kitchen again, obsessively checking his phone every few minutes. That wasn't Dorian's normal style—yes, his phone was on his person at all times every day but normally he only paid attention to it when it chimed or vibrated. So, when he left Honnleath in a rush an hour later, with talk of errands and work, a pit of anxiety settled into Cullen's stomach and had yet to leave. He couldn't pinpoint _what_ bothered him, exactly, just that it all felt so _off_. Dorian had said he would be back, showered and dressed, with at least an hour to spare, but a small part of Cullen can't help but assume the worst case scenario, which would be that Dorian's decided this is all too much work, too much effort, and that he's had enough of Cullen and the life they're beginning to weave together.

Of course, all of the baseless melancholy dissipates the moment Dorian breezes in through the door at quarter to five, all smiles and laughter and Cullen's favourite cologne. Dijon is in tow, wearing his own wide doggy-smile, though it's not until he makes it to the kitchen that Cullen notices he's wearing… a tie? It's a white fabric collar, complete with crisp lapels and a bright yellow tie knotted in between.

Cullen laughs when he sees his dog, setting aside the stainless steel pan full of pickled carrot he'd just been covering with plastic wrap and kneeling down to greet him. Dijon barks and manages to get one lick at Cullen's cheek in before Cullen can hold him back. "Well, don't you look so dashing," he says to Dijon, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. He looks up at Dorian with a smile before standing. "Where on earth did you find a tie for dogs?"

Dorian just shrugs and smiles, leaning in to kiss Cullen on the cheek before turning back towards the front of the restaurant. "It wasn't me that found it," he says.

Cullen quirks an eyebrow at Dorian's back in confusion. "Who did, then?" Dorian doesn't answer but keeps walking back to the front door of the restaurant. "Dorian, _what_ is going on?"

Dorian looks back over his shoulder with a smirk and reaches for the door handle, whipping the door open triumphantly. "Your sister found it, actually" he says, standing back to reveal Mia standing in the threshold—

Flanked by Branson and Rosalie, and arms full of Lily, too.

The lot of them at the door laugh loudly while Cullen's jaw drops. He's frozen in place looking at them all, completely taken aback to see them there.

"Surprise!" Mia says in sing-song, leading the group through the door and closing the distance to Cullen.

"What in the Maker's name…" Cullen's still a bit shocked but he pulls Mia and Lily into a tight hug without second thought. "What are you all doing here?" Bran and Rosie are right behind Mia, and Cullen pulls them in too.

"We got wind that there was a restaurant opening going on tonight so thought we'd crash it," Bran says with an easy grin. It's been less than a year since Cullen's seen him, but he could swear the kid's grown half a metre and that his voice has dropped half an octave.

When they all separate, Lily squirms in Mia's arms and reaches for Cullen. "Uncle Cull _wen_." She emphasises his name like it's a demand, and Cullen laughs as he takes her from his sister.

"Hello my Lilypad," he says, giving her a big kiss on the cheek that makes her giggle. "Look how big you've gotten."

Lily's hands grip into Cullen's t-shirt. "Do you have a froggy for me?" she asks excitedly. Cullen's always given her a frog of some sort—figurines, plush animals, chocolate—as presents, and though it's been a while, she's clearly not forgotten.

Cullen puts on an exaggerated frown and shakes his head. Lily moves one hand to his cheek and she pats it softly, then goes to poke a finger at his downturned lower lip. "I didn't know you were coming, love, so I had no time to go out and catch one for you, I'm sorry."

He glances over at everyone else, then. Bran and Rosie are meandering around the dining room, inspecting things, and Mia's typing something on her phone. Dorian, though, is watching him with Lily and he has the widest, dopiest smile on his face that it makes Cullen laugh just to see it. He'd never have pegged Dorian of all people to have any sort of weakness for children, but then, maybe it isn't exactly the baby in the scenario that's gotten to him. Dorian snaps out of it at the sound of Cullen's laugh and his smile fades, but he offers a wink instead.

Cullen gives Lily another kiss on the cheek and shifts her to sit against his hip. He takes a step towards Mia, leaning in a bit, watching until she looks up from her phone. She chuckles when she realises how close he is, and pockets her phone.

"I have to worry about how you all afforded to get here," he says to her, his voice pitched low so Bran and Rosie can't hear. "It's too much to have spent on such short notice. I'm happy you're all here, of course, but it'd have been better six months from now, whenever I'd have been able to buy your tickets."

Mia waves his concerns away and runs a hand through her chin-length hair; it'd been just shy of her waist, last time Cullen had seen her. "Don't worry about it, Cullen—we're just happy that we're able to be here for this."

"I am too, Mia, really, but it makes me sick to think—"

Dorian steps up beside them then, and he leans in with a grin. "Let her be, this was my doing."

Cullen looks at him, puzzled. "You? What, you mean that you paid for all their airfare?"

Dorian nods, still grinning, and he reaches up to _boop_ Lily's nose and tickle under her chin until she giggles. "Six months from now, or longer, wouldn't have been good enough," he says, matter of fact, with a small shrug.

"Dorian, I don't…"

"Pshh, pshh, pshh. Just focus on the fact that everyone's here, for you—don't worry about the how of it."

Cullen fixes Dorian with a look and they hold each other's eyes for a moment, before Cullen shakes his head, conceding. It still feels like too much money even when it's Dorian's, but he can't deny that he appreciates the gesture a great deal.

"We are all here for you," Mia says, reaching for Lily and taking her from Cullen. "But they're also going to be very hungry and it would be terrible if we were to keep you from your job here."

Cullen nods, sighing a little at the reminder of the looming dinner service. He leans in to kiss Mia's cheek, and leans past her to tell Bran and Rosie to help themselves to drinks from the bar— _within reason_. They respond with stuck-out tongues, and he gives them a wave before heading back to the kitchen.

He hears Dorian close at his heels, and then feels his hand wrap around his bicep, squeezing. Except instead of holding Cullen back, Dorian pulls him forward, past the kitchen.

"I need to see you in your office first, actually," he says, leading the way.

Cullen huffs out a laugh, following Dorian into the office. He smirks when Dorian shuts the door behind them. "Much as I'd love to, not really time for a quickie…"

Dorian reaches around and pats him on the ass, smirking right back. "Tempting, but not what I had in mind, either."

And then he pushes Cullen into the centre of the room, near his desk, and moves past him to the closet along the far wall. Cullen watches him with curiosity, wondering what he's got stashed away in there—there hasn't been occasion to use it since they took the space over, for how warm the weather's been. He pulls out something on a hanger, black fabric of some sort, but he slips it behind his back before Cullen can really see what it is.

Dorian comes over to stand in front of him, and starts undoing the buttons of Cullen's chef jacket with one hand. He's surprisingly deft at it too, considering he's never done it before; Cullen has enough of a struggle sometimes, getting his fingers around the tiny things with both hands, let alone with one.

"I've been trying to think of just the right sort of gift to give you to mark this, and it took me rather longer than I'd have liked, but… I think I did quite well."

"Oh?" Cullen asks, quirking an eyebrow. "I'd have thought flying all of my siblings across the Atlantic would've counted as such a gift—not that it'd have been necessary, of course, but I mean if the gesture were to still—"

Dorian smiles, hushes him with a finger over his lips. "I meant something more personal. And I thought, we can't have Cullen wearing the same chef jacket he wore at Wunderbar—or even earlier, I've no idea how long this has been kicking around." He tugs at the collar of the jacket, trying to work it over Cullen's shoulder, and Cullen reaches up to finish the job. "So I had this made for you."

He brings the hanger out from behind his back with a flourish. It holds a black chef jacket, crisp fabric as dark as pitch, with gold piping down the front hem and at the sleeve ends. And over the left breast pocket, are Cullen's initials stitched in gold serif block lettering.

It's _striking_.

He's never worn a black jacket before; he'd worked under a few executive chefs that did and it always felt as though it set them too far apart from the rest of the brigade. One shouldn't need that sort of delineation in order to command authority, he's always thought, so when he was executive at Wunderbar, he'd stuck with his own white jacket. But Dorian has a point, that the opening of Honnleath, a restaurant wholly his own, calls for something new and distinguished from everything from before.

Dorian's looking down, undoing the buttons on the black jacket. Cullen clears his throat and takes a bit of the hem between his fingers, rubbing it. It's softer than he'd anticipated, for how crisp it looks. "Dorian, this is…" he starts, but he can't find the words. There's a lot that he wants to say.

"Shh." Dorian shakes the open jacket once and holds it so Cullen can slip into it. With his arms through, Dorian turns him around and buttons it up. It reminds him of the fitting back in the ALTUS studio, the way that Dorian makes sure the jacket sits properly, tugging on the bottom hem and smoothing his hands over the shoulders. "There."

Cullen can't even bring himself to glance down at the jacket now about his torso; all he can look at is Dorian and the soft expression on his face. He reaches up and cups his cheek gently, leaning in to kiss him. Dorian tilts his head up into it but doesn't move otherwise, and Cullen can feel the smile that blooms across his lips against his own.

"Thank you," he says. He draws back only enough to speak, leaning his forehead against Dorian's. A loud, squealing laugh from Lily out in the front of the restaurant cuts through then, and they both chuckle. "How did you even…?" he asks, tilting his chin towards the office door before sneaking another quick kiss.

Dorian slips a hand into the hair at the back of Cullen's head as he kisses back. "You gave me Mia's number, remember? When it was all doom and gloom and you thought that'd be the only way I could contact you after you'd left. I called her a couple weeks back while you were here."

Cullen smiles at the revelation. He'd entirely forgotten—the moment it was certain he'd be taking over Valmont Bistro, his entire purview shifted focus and he moved on completely.

"How sneaky of you," he says, voice low and rough, wrapping his arms around Dorian's waist and bringing him in closer. The remaining prep in the kitchen really is calling him, but a last kiss—or a few—can't hurt.

 

By quarter past six, the dining room is full. Cullen comes out from the kitchen and his stomach is contorted in on itself in a hundred different ways for how nervous he feels, but as he stands near the bar, he runs his hand over the monogram of his jacket, feeling the threads against the thin skin of his palm, and he feels better. He takes the glass of champagne the bartender hands to him and turns to the room full of people, and his broad smile is genuine.

He raises his glass to his family and his friends, welcoming them. He mentions his parents, that he knows they'd have loved to have been able to join in the party and how shocked they'd have been to see all the siblings together again, and Mia, Bran, Rosie share a laugh with him over it. He thanks Felix for all his work in organising the evening and Felix calls back that he expects to be paid in free drinks— _and none of that lower shelf shite, either_. And then Cullen turns to Dorian. Again, there's so much he wants to say, so much he should say, but this time it's not that the words elude him—it's bigger than words can contain, anyway. Rather, it's for Dorian and not for anyone else to hear, so instead he meets his gaze for a long moment, smiles at him as warmly as he can, thanks him, and toasts to him like he's the only person in the room.

The pace in the kitchen during service is a hair away from too hectic. There are a few expedition issues, with forgotten table numbers. A few dishes prove more difficult than others for the kitchen and Cullen turns them back at the pass. And there's more than few broken dishes and glasses. It's nothing that Cullen hasn't seen before, especially not during a first service, but it keeps him busy the entire time.

He does take a minute, however, to peek through the window that looks out from the kitchen into the dining room. Dorian and Mia are sitting next to each other, talking and laughing as they eat. Lily is between them, and she looks completely awed by Dorian. She draws a tiny finger over his tattoos on his forearms, and plays with the bracelets and rings he wears. He sets down his fork and faces her squarely—and she looks a little scared for a moment, as if she expects to be told off. Instead, he tugs at both curled corners of his moustache and grins at her, and she giggles loudly. Cullen laughs too from where he's standing at the pass, and he doesn't even flinch when he hears another plate hit the floor.

 

It's just past midnight by the time Cullen has a moment to breathe. The last of the guests shuffled out by ten thirty, and his family followed suit an hour later when they retired with Dijon in tow to Cullen's apartment. And now, with the last of the kitchen staff leaving after cleaning their stations, Cullen and Dorian are the last two standing.

In a manner of speaking, that is. Technically, they're leaning—against the counter near the pass, a nearly-empty bottle of champagne between them.

"So?" Dorian asks, the word spoken into his flute as it's raised to his lips. He takes a long sip and swirls it through his mouth before swallowing. "How do you feel it went?"

Cullen sighs, but it's out of relief rather than exasperation. "Well, all things considered. There's work to do with the wait staff, a bit, and I'll need to go through a few of the recipes again with the brigade." He pauses, drinking from his own flute. "There's still the actual opening to come so it's too early to celebrate just yet, but… I feel much better about it all now than id di this morning."

Dorian's looking at Cullen as he speaks, and he smiles wide when he finishes. "Good. A few kinks to be ironed out, but that's expected. The food was perfect, at least, and I think everyone enjoyed themselves."

"And your industry folks? You think they'll be back?"

"I'll wait a day or two before following up, but I talked to them briefly before they left, and all they had to say were good things."

Cullen huffs, smirking a little. "They ought to—we plied them with enough free drinks to at least get one or two after parties out of them."

Dorian chuckles and nods, and he knocks his shoulder against Cullen's before lifting his flute again. Cullen turns to look at him, and his eyes fall on the lines of Dorian's neck as he tilts his head back to drink… and he's taken by an overwhelming need to kiss him.

Cullen sets his flute down on the counter and moves in front of Dorian, taking him by the hips and leaning in until they're flush and Dorian's pinned back against the brushed steel. Cullen ducks his head down and kisses at the side of his neck while his head's still tipped up to finish his champagne.

Cullen feels the rumble against his lips as Dorian hums, and then moves to kiss over his throat as he swallows his drink. The way Dorian smells is more intoxicating than the champagne itself, and Cullen breathes in deeply, nuzzling his nose against Dorian's skin, kissing up by the corner of his jaw.

He hears Dorian put his own flute down, and then feels his hands on his cheeks, in his hair.

"I thought we weren't celebrating just yet," Dorian says, his voice barely audible for how low it is.

"Mmm, we're not." Cullen nudges Dorian's earlobe with the tip of his nose, then sucks it between his lips. It pulls a rough mewl out of Dorian, and Cullen smiles to himself, a little smug—that spot's never failed him yet. He moves lower, to Dorian's collarbone, lifting one hand and tugging at the opening of his shirt to expose more skin. "I still owe you for this morning…" he whispers between kisses.

One of Dorian's hands tightens in his hair, while the other slips down over his shoulder, his back, to his ass and grips him through his pants. "I'm surprised you remember," he murmurs. "That was a long time ago."

Cullen nods against Dorian's skin. "It was," he agrees, then uses his leg to kick Dorian's legs further apart, giving himself more room to settle between them. And Cullen had thought to banter a bit more, to tease and to flirt, but feeling the ridge of Dorian's dick hard against his thigh, his mind goes blank except for thoughts of _more_.

He lifts Dorian onto the counter, using his hands to wrap his legs around his hips, and kisses him deeply. Dorian snakes both arms around his neck and kisses back eagerly, moaning when his hips grind into him. Cullen slips a hand between their stomachs and fumbles with the button of Dorian's jeans, desperate to feel the solid warmth of him in his palm. He works the fly open and delves into Dorian's underwear, wrapping his hand around his shaft and stroking up in one smooth motion.

Dorian gasps and groans, his head bent forward to rest on Cullen's shoulder. "Cullen, fuck—" he grits out when Cullen passes his palm around the head of his cock.

Cullen leans forward and kisses at the side of Dorian's neck, whatever skin his lips can reach with the way he's hunched forward and leaning against him. He pumps his hand fast and tight, using the precum leaking from Dorian's tip to ease the glide of his hand but it still doesn't feel quite right, too dry, so he pulls his hand back for just a second and spits into his palm. It's better when he strokes again and Dorian moans, high and thin, the way he tends to when he's close…

So Cullen whispers, tells Dorian to hold on, and drops to his knees. He pulls Dorian to the edge of the counter, pushes the bottom of his shirt up and the waistband of his underwear down, and takes him down as far as he can, swallowing around the head of his cock. Both of Dorian's hands fly into his hair, clutching his curls tight, and he curses between panting breaths. "Oh, fu—" he starts, about to repeat himself, but he finishes with a groan of Cullen's name instead as he comes down Cullen's throat.

Cullen relishes in the sounds he makes and swallows through each pulse, keeping Dorian close, until he feels the grip in his hair go slack. He pulls back and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, and stands up in front of Dorian again with shaky legs.

Dorian braces back against the counter, his breath still coming a bit hard, his head tipped forward. Then he glances up sideways at Cullen, the corner of his moustache hitched up by his crooked smile. "Somehow I doubt this is what you meant, those months ago, when you told me that everyone keeps their kit on in _your_ kitchen…"


	14. Epilogue

It's nearly one in the morning when Dorian hears the front door of his apartment click open and then shut. He's in bed, but wide awake—it's a rare night he's asleep before Cullen finishes at Honnleath. He doesn't spend every night at Dorian's, but it's enough that it's offset Dorian's sleep schedule.

He listens to the sounds of Cullen slipping out of layer after layer of outerwear. Things get put away in the coat closet this time, rather than dropped into a pile on the floor as they sometimes are, so it can't have been overwhelmingly busy that night at the restaurant.

Cullen pads into the bedroom, tugs off the rest of his clothes, and crawls straight into bed, and Dorian doesn't even need to touch him to get an idea of how cold it is outside--it's emanating off of him, chilling the bare skin of Dorian's cheek, arm, and side. Cullen reaches for him immediately, bundling him in close under the thick bedding.

"Cold hands!" Dorian says with a faint whine. "And cold nose!" he adds, when Cullen buries it in the crook of his neck.

"So warm me up," Cullen teases, but he takes his hands off Dorian all the same and rubs them together to dull the edge of the chill in his skin.

Despite his protest, Dorian shifts closer to Cullen, curling into his arms. "I wondered whether I'd see you tonight," he says, his mouth close to Cullen's bare chest. He presses a kiss to his skin because it's warm, there.

Cullen nuzzles into Dorian's hair and sighs softly. "It's snowing so hard, the thought of looking for a taxi in it..."

Dorian hums and nods. "Well, you know you're always welcome."

They lie in mutual silence for a while, the only sound in the room coming from the icy snow battering the window.

Eventually Cullen yawns, and shifts around a little. "If only I knew of someone who lives nearer to the restaurant that was looking for a roommate…" His voice is quiet when he says it, and Dorian's not sure if it's because he's close to sleep or if he's uncertain of what he's suggesting.

Which would be fair; they've never talked about this before, living together. But… it makes sense, Dorian thinks. They spend most nights at one apartment or the other, and mostly his, in the six months that Honnleath has been open.

He's almost surprised, that this doesn't feel weightier to him, that there's no pit of gnawing hesitation sitting low in his gut. Ten months ago, the thought of sharing his space so totally with another person would've sent him running for the hills—so to speak; for the nearest bar is probably more apt. But it's less of an adjustment, he thinks, when you've already been sharing the other aspects of your life together.

"Well… you can certainly always stay _here_ ," Dorian says, then adds, "until you find said roommate, of course," smiling against Cullen's skin in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's that! thank you sooo much to everyone who's left a comment or a kudos here, everyone who's subscribed or bookmarked, everyone who's sent me an ask or a left me a reply on tumblr -- you've all been super motivating and i've gotten some really amazing, helpful feedback ♥

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://starkhavened.tumblr.com)! :)


End file.
